UC-NRLF 


/BERICELEY\ 

LIBRARY 

1     UNIVERSITY  OF     I 
\CAUFORNIA./ 


j     OAK  «RO¥E  ACABEMT, 
BERTIE  COUNTY, 


This  is  to  certify  that 


I 


™  entitled 


o^y    C 
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to  the  first  Honor  in  Class, 

for    -  ''•  *   progress  in  -/^<^  rfc-ZAn^ 

?  ^r^    l/<  •*  -?  ?-  <  st~    ^  made 

/lS^—~  Session 

-&^2.  / 

of  the  year     /       7/ 
Signed    , 


during  the 


I 


Rled  on  tiue   steep  her  tlazing-ikg-gots  loxira., 
To "ka.il  the  "bark  thai  n.ever  can. -return.;.. 


T    i  I  IE 


/    C  s///////'f 


X  K  >V     YORK  . 


il  ;f4  ;$    • 


THE 


POETICAL   WORKS 


OP 


THOMAS  CAMPBELL: 


INCLUDING 


THEODRIC, 


AND 

MANY  OTHER  PIECES  NOT  CONTAINED  IN  ANY 
FORMER  EDITION. 


S    &    D.   A.   FORBES,    PRINTERS, 
JVb.  29  Gold-Street. 

1830. 


CONTENTS. 


Page. 

Pleasures  of  Hope,  Part  1 7 

Part  II.       : 29 

Gertrude  of  Wyoming.  Part  I.  .......    47 

PartH 57 

.    .     PartllL     ......    65 

O'Connor's  Child,  or  the  Flower  of  Love  lies  bleeding  78 

Lochiel's  Warning       87 

Specimens  of  Translation  from  Medea  ....  90 
Speech  of  the  Chorus  in  the  same  Tragedy  .  .  91 
Love  and  Madness,  an  Elegy  .......  95 

The  Wounded  Hussar 97 

Gilderoy 98 

The  Harper    . 100 

Song — "  My  mind  is  my  kingdom,"  &c.      »     .    .101 

The  Beech  Tree's  Petition ib. 

Hohenlinden 102 

Ye  Mariner's  of  England,  a  Naval  Ode       .    .    .  103 

Glenara 105 

Battle  of  the  Baltic 106 

Lord  Ullin's  Daughter 103 

Lines  on  the  Grave  of  a  Suicide Ill 

Ode  to  Winter 112 

The  Soldier's  Dream       114 

The  Turkish  Lady 115 

Exile  of  Erin 116 

Lines  written  at  the  request  of  the'  Highland  So- 
ciety in  London,  when  met  to  commemorate 
the  21st  of  March,  the  day  of  victory  in 

Egypt 117 

Lines  written  on  visiting  a  scene  in  Argyleshire    .  119 
^atriotic  Stanzas  composed  and  recited  at  a  meet- 
ing of  North  Britons,  in  London,  on  Monday 
the  8th  of  August,  1803     .    .     .....  140 

034 


IV  CONTENTS. 

Page. 

Caroline,  Part  1 121 

.       .      .  Part  II 123 

Ode  to  the  Memory  of  Burns 124 

Theodric,  a  Domestic  Tale        123 

To  the  Rainbow 145 

The  Brave  Roland 147 

The  Spectre  Boat 148 

Song — To  the  Evening  Star 1 50 

Valedictory  Stanzas  to  J.  P.  Kemble,  Esq.       .     .157 
Lines,  spoken  by  Mr.  *  *  *,  at  Drury  Lane  Theatre, 
on  the  first  opening  of  the  house  after  the  death 

of  the  Princess  Charlotte,  1817 153 

Lines  on  receiving  a  Seal,  with  the  Campbell  crest, 

from  K.  M ,  before  her  marriage    .     .     .155 

Stanzas  to  the  memory  of  the  Spanish  patriots 
latest  killed  in  resisting  the  Regency  and  the 

Duke  of  Angouleme 157 

Lines  inscribed  on  the  monumentof  Sir  G.  Campbell  158 

Song  of  the  Greeks 159 

The  Lover  to  his  Mistress,  on  her  birthday      .     .161 

Song—"  Men  of  England," 162 

Adelgitha        163 

Song— "  Drink  ye  to  her,"  &c. ib. 

"  When  Napoleon  was  flying,"  &c.  .  .164 
o  ,  "  Oh  how  hard  it  is  to  find,"  &c.  ...  ib. 
.  .  "  Earl  March  looked  on  his  dying  child,"  &,c.  165 

Absence .166 

Song — "  Withdraw  not  yet  those  lips,"  &c.      .     .    ib. 

The  Last  Man 1S7 

The  Ritter  Bann 169 

A  Dream 175 

Reullura 177 

NOTES; 

Pleasures  of  Hope,  Part  1 1 

Part  II.      .     ; 5 

Gertrude  of  Wyoming,  Part  1 6 

Part  III 21 

O'Connor's  Child,  or  the  Flower  of  Love  lies  bleed- 
ing       24 

Lochiers  Warning SO 

Theodric 86 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 

PART  I. 


ANALYSIS  OF  PART  I. 


The  poem  opens  with  a  comparison  between  the  beauty  of 
remote  objects  in  a  landscape,  and  those  ideal  scenes  of  felicity 
which  the  imagination  delights  to  contemplate — the  influence 
of  anticipation  upon  the  other  passions  is  next  delineated — an 
allusion  is  made  to  the  well  known  fiction  in  pagan  tradition, 
that,  when  all  the  guardian  deities  of  mankind  abandoned  the 
world,  Hope  alone  was  left  behind — the  consolations  of  this 
passion  in  situations  of  danger  and  distress — the  seaman  on  his 
midnight  watch — the  soldier  marching  into  battle — allusion  to 
the  interesting  adventures  of  Byron. 

The  inspiration  of  Hope,  as  it  actuates  the  efforts  of  genius, 
whether  in  the  department  of  science  or  of  taste — domestic 
felicity,  how  intimely  connected  with  views  of  future  hap- 
piness— picture  of  a  mother  watching  her  infant  when  asleep — 
pictures  of  the  prisoner,  the  maniac,  and  the  wanderer. 

From  the  consolations  of  individual  misery,  a  transition  is 
made  to  prospects  of  political  improvement  in  the  future  state 
of  society — the  wide  field  that  is  yet  open  fof  the  progress  of 
humanizing  arts  among  uncivilized  nations — from  these  views 
of  amelioration  of  society,  and  the  extension  of  liberty  and  truth 
over  despotic  and  barbarous  countries,  by  melancholy  contrast 
of  ideas  we  are  led  to  reflect  upon  the  hard  fate  of  a  brave 
people,  recently  conspicuous  in  their  struggles  for  indepen- 
tlence---description  of  the  capture  of  Warsaw,  of  the  last  con- 
test of  the  oppressors  and  the  oppressed,  and  the  massacre  of 
the  Polish  patriots  at  the  bridge  of  Prague — apostrophe  to  the 
self-interested  enemies  of  human  improvement — the  wrongs 
of  Africa — the  barbarous  policy  of  Europeans  in  India — pro- 
phecy in  the  Hindoo  mythology  of  the  expected  descent  of  the 
Deity,  to  redress  the  miseries  of  their  race,  and  to  take  ven- 
geance on  the  violators  of  justice  and  mercy. 


THE 

PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 

PART  I. 

AT  summer  eve,  when  Heav'n's  aerial  bow 
Spans  with  bright  arch  the  glittering  hills  below, 
Why  to  yon  mountain  turns  the  musing  eye, 
Whose  sun-bright  summit  mingles  with  the  sky? 
Why  do  those  cliffs  of  shadowy  tint  appear 
More  sweet  than  all  the  landscape  smiling  near  ?— - 
'Tis  distance  lends  enchantment  to  the  view 
And  robes  the  mountain  in  its  azure  hue. 

Thus,  with  delight,  we  linger  to  survey 
The  promised  joys  of  life's  unmeasured  way; 
Thus,  from  afar,  each  dim-discovered  scene 
More  pleasing  seems  than  all  the  past  hath  been ; 
And  every  form,  that  fancy  can  repair 
From  dark  oblivion,  glows  divinely  there. 

What  potent  spirit  guides  the  raptured  eye 
To  pierce  the  shades  of  dim  futurity  ? 
Can  Wisdom  lend,  with  all  her  heav'nly  power, 
The  pledge  of  Joy's  anticipated  hour  ? 
All,  no  !  she  darkly  sees  the  fate  of  man — 
Her  dim  horizon  bounded  to  a  span  ; 
Or,  if  she  hold  an  image  to  the  view, 
'Tis  Nature  pictured  too  severely  true. 

With  thee,  sweet  Hope  !  resides  the  heavenly  light, 

That  pours  remotest  rapture  on  the  sight : 
Thine  is  the  charm  of  life's  bewilder'd  way, 
That  calls  each  slumb'ring  passion  into  play : 


8  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

Wak'd  by  thy  touch,  I  see  the  sister  band, 
On  tiptoe  watching,  start  at  thy  command, 
And  fly  where'er  thy  mandate  bids  them  steer, 
To  Pleasure's  path,  or  Glory's  bright  career. 

Primeval  Hope,  the  Aonian  Muses  say, 
When  Man  and  Nature  mourned  their  first  decay; 
When  every  form  of  death,  and  every  wo, 
Shot  from  malignant  stars  to  earth  below  ; 
When  Murder  bared  his  arm,  and  rampant  War 
'Yoked  the  red  dragons  of  her  iron  car ; 
When  Peace  and  Mercy,  banished  from  the  plain, 
Sprung  on  the  viewless  winds  to  Heav'n  again  ; 
All,  all  forsook  the  friendless  guilty  mind, 
But  Hope,  the  charmer,  lingered  still  behind. 

Thus,  while  Elijah's  burning  wheels  prepare 
From  Carmel's  height  to  sweep  the  fields  of  air, 
The  Prophet's  mantle,  ere  his  flight  began, 
Dropped  on  the  world — a  sacred  gift  to  man. 

Auspicious  Hope  !  in  thy  sweet  garden  grow 
Wreaths  for  each  toil,  a  charm  for  every  wo : 
Won  by  their  sweets,  in  nature's  languid  hour 
The  way-worn  pilgrim  seeks  thy  summer  bower ; 
There,  as  the  wild-bee  murmurs  on  the  wing, 
What  peaceful  dreams  thy  handmaid  spirits  bring ! 
What  viewless  forms  th'  Jllolian  organ  play, 
And  sweep  the  furrow'd  lines  of  anxious  thought  away 

Angel  of  life  !  thy  glittering  wings  explore 
Earth's  loneliest  bounds,  and  ocean's  wildest  shore. 
Lo  !  to  the  wint'ry  winds  the  pilot  yields 
His  bark  careering  o'er  unfathomed  fields  ; 
Now  on  Atlantic  waves  he  rides  afar. 
Where  Andes,  giant  of  the  western  star, 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  9 

With  meteor  standard  to  the  winds  unfurled. 
Looks  from  his  throne  of  clouds  o'er  half  the  world. 

Now  far  he  sweeps,  where  scarce  a  summer  smiles, 
On  Behring's  rocks,  or  Greenland's  naked  isles : 
Cold  on  his  midnight  watch  the  breezes  blow, 
From  wastes  that  slumber  in  eternal  snow ; 
And  waft,  across  the  waves'  tumultuous  roar, 
The  wolf's  long  howl  from  Oonalaska's  shore. 

Poor  child  of  danger,  nursling  of  the  storm, 
Sad  are  the  woes  that  wreck  thy  manly  form ! 
Rocks,  waves,  and  winds,  the  shatter'd  bark  delay ; 
Thy  heart  is  sad,  thy  home  is  far  away. 

But  Hope  can  here  her  moonlight  vigils  keep, 
And  sing  to  charm  the  spirit  of  the  deep. 
Swift  as  yon  streamer  lights  the  starry  pole, 
Her  visions  warm  the  watchman's  pensive  soul : 
His  native  hills  that  rise  in  happier  climes, 
The  grot  that  heard  his  song  of  other  times, 
His  cottage-home,  his  bark  of  slender  sail, 
His  glassy  lake,  and  broomwood-blossomed  vale, 
Rush  on  his  thought ;  he  sweeps  before  the  wind, 
Treads  the  loved  shore  he  sighed  to  leave  behind ; 
Meets  at  each  step  a  friend's  familiar  face, 
And  flies  at  last  to  Helen's  long  embrace  ; 
Wipes  from  her  cheek  the  rapture-speaking  tear, 
And  clasps,  with  many  a  sigh,  his  ^children  dear ! 
While,  long  neglected,  but  at  length  caressed, 
His  faithful  dog  salutes  the  smiling  guest, 
Points  to  the  master's  eyes  (where'er  they  roam) 
His  wistful  face,  and  whines  a  welcome  home. 

Friend  of  the  brave  t  in  peril's  darkest  houij 
Intrepid  Virtue  looks  to  thee  for  power ; 


10  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

To  thee  the  heart  its  trembling  homage  yields, 
On  stormy  floods,  and  carnage-covered  fields. 
When  front  to  front  the  bannered  hosts  combine, 
Halt  ere  they  close,  and  form  the  dreadful  line  ; 
When  all  is  still  on  Death's  devoted  soil, 
The  march-worn  soldier  mingles  for  the  toil ; 
As  rings  his  glittering  tube,  he  lifts  on  high 
The  dauntless  brow,  and  spirit-speaking  eye, 
Hails  in  his  heart  the  triumph  yet  to  come, 
And  hears  thy  stormy  music  in  the  drum. 

And  such  thy  strength-inspiring  aid  that  bore 
The  hardy  Byron  to  his  native  shore. — (a) 
In  horrid  climes,  where  Chiloe's  tempests  sweep 
Tumultuous  murmurs  o'er  the  troubled  deep, 
'Twas  his  to  mourn  misfortune's  rudest  shock, 
Scourged  by  the  winds,  and  cradled  on  the  rock, 
To  wake  each  joyless  morn,  and  search  again 
The  famished  haunts  of  solitary  men, 
Whose  race,  unyielding  as  their  native  storm, 
Knows  not  a  trace  of  Nature  but  the  form ; 
Yet,  at  thy  call,  the  hardy  tar  pursued, 
Pale,  but  intrepid,  sad,  but  unsubdued, 
Pierced  the  deep  woods,  and,  hailing  from  afar 
The  moon's  pale  planet  and  the  northern  star ; 
Paused  at  each  dreary  cry,  unheard  before, 
Hyaenas  in  the  wild,  and  mermaids  on  the  shore  ; 
Till,  led  by  thee  o'er  many  a  cliff  sublime, 
He  found  a  warmer  world,  a  milder  clime, 
A  home  to  rest,  a  shelter  to  defend, 
Peace  and  repose,  a  Briton  and  a  friend !  (6) 

Congenial  Hope  !  thy  passion-kindling  power, 
How  bright,  how  strong,  in  youth's  untroubled  hour 
On  yon  proud  height,  with  Genius  hand  in  hand, 
I  see  thee  light,  and  wave  thy  golden^wand. 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  11 

**  Go,  Child  of  heaven,  (thy  winged  words  proclaim) 
'Tis  thine  to  search  the  boundless  fields  of  fame ! 
Lo  I  Newton,  priest  of  Nature,  shines  afar, 
Scans  the  wide  world,  and  numbers  every  star ! 
Wilt  thou,  with  him,  mysterious  rites  apply, 
And  watch  the  shrine  with  wonder-beaming  eye  ? 
Yes,  thou  shalt  mark,  with  magic  art  profound, 
The  speed  of  light,  the  circling  march  of  sound 
With  Franklin,  grasp  the  lightning's  fiery  wing, 
Or  yield  the  lyre  of  Heaven  another  string,  (c) 

"  The  Swedish  sage  admires,  in  yonder  bowers,  (d) 
His  winged  insects,  and  his  rosy  flowers  ; 
Calls  from  their  woodland  haunts  the  savage  train 
With  sounding  horn,  and  counts  them  on  the  plain — 
So  once,  at  Heaven's  command,  the  wand'rers  came 
To  Eden's  shade,  and  heard  their  various  name. 

"  Far  from  the  world,  in  yon  sequestered  clime, 
Slow  pass  the  sons  of  Wisdom,  more  sublime ; 
Calm  as  the  fields  of  Heav'n  his  sapient  eye 
The  loved  Athenian  lifts  to  realms  on  high 
Admiring  Plato,  on  his  spotless  page, 
Stamps  the  bright  dictates  of  the  father  sage ; 
5  Shall  Nature  bound  to  earth's  diurnal  span 
The  fire  of  God,  th'  immortal  soul  of  man  ?' 

"  Turn,  Child  of  Heaven,  thy  rapture-lightened  eye 
To  Wisdom's  walk, — the  sacred  Nine  are  nigh : 
Hark !  from  bright  spires  that  gild  the  Delphian  height, 
From  streams  that  wander  in  eternal  light, 
Ranged  on  their  hill,  Harmonia's  daughters  swell 
The  mingling  tones  of  horn,  and  harp,  and  shell ; 
Deep  from  his  vaults  the  Loxian  murmurs  flow,  (e) 
And  Pythia's  awful  organ  peals  below 


2  CAMPBELLS  POEMS. 

"  Beloved  of  Heaven  !  the  smiling  Muse  shall  shed 
Her  moonlight  halo  on  thy  beauteous  head  ; 
Shall  swell  thy  heart  to  rapture  unconfined, 
And  breathe  a  holy  madness  o'er  thy  mind. 
I  see  thee  roam  her  guardian  power  beneath, 
And  talk  with  spirits  on  the  midnight  heath  ; 
Inquire  of  guilty  wanderers  whence  they  came. 
And  ask  each  blood-stained  form  his  earthly  name 
Then  weave  in  rapid  verse  the  deeds  they  tell, 
And  read  the  trembling  world  the  tales  of  hell. 

"  When  Venus,  throned  in  clouds  of  rosy  hue. 
Flings  from  her  golden  urn  the  vesper  dew, 
And  bids  fond  man  her  glimmering  noon  employ, 
Sacred  to  love  and  walks  of  tender  joy ; 
A  milder  mood  the  goddess  shall  recall, 
And  soft  as  dew  thy  tones  of  music  fall ; 
While  Beauty's  deeply-pictured  smiles  impart 
A  pang  more  dear  than  pleasure  to  the  heart — 
Warm  as  thy  sighs  shall  flow  the  Lesbian  strain, 
And  plead  in  Beauty's  ear,  nor  plead  in  vain. 

"  Or  wilt  thou  Orphean  hymns  more  sacred  deem, 
And  steep  thy  song  in  Mercy's  mellow  stream  ; 
To  pensive  drops  the  radiant  eye  beguile — 
For  Beauty's  tears  are  lovelier  than  her  smile ; — 
On  Nature's  throbbing  anguish  pour  relief, 
And  teach  impassioned  souls  the  joy  of  grief? 

"  Yes  ;  to  thy  tongue  shall  seraph  words  be  given, 
And  power  on  earth  to  plead  the  cause  of  heaven  : 
The  proud,  the  cold,  untroubled  heart  of  stone, 
That  never  mused  on  sorrow  but  its  own, 
Unlocks  a  generous  store  at  thy  command, 
Like  Horeb's  rocks  beneath  the  prophet's  hand.  (/) 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  13 

The  living  lumber  of  his  kindred  earth, 
Charmed  into  soul,  receives  a  second  birth  ; 
Feels  thy  dread  power  another  heart  afford,' 
Whose  passion-touched  harmonious  strings  accord 
True  as  the  circling  spheres  to  Nature's  plan ; 
And  man,  the  brother,  lives  the  friend  of  man ! 

"  Bright  as  the  pillar  rose  at  Heaven's  command, 
When  Israel  marched  along  the  desert  land, 
Blazed  through  the  night  on  lonely  wilds  afar, 
And  told  the  path — a  never-setting  star : 
So,  heavenly  Genius,  in  thy  course  divine, 
Hope  is  thy  star,  her  light  is  ever  thine." 

Propitious  Power  !  when  rankling  cares  annoy 
The  sacred  home  of  Hymenean  joy  ; 
When  doomed  to  Poverty's  sequestered  dell, 
The  wedded  pair  of  love  and  virtue  dwell, 
Unpitied  by  the  world,  unknown  to  fame, 
Their  woes,  their  wishes,  and  their  hearts  the  same — 
Oh  there,  prophetic  hope  !  thy  smile  bestow, 
And  chase  the  pangs  that  worth  should  never  know — 
There,  as  the  parent  deals  his  scanty  store 
To  friendless  babes,  and  weeps  to  give  no  more. 
Tell,  that  his  manly  race  shall  yet  assuage 
Their  father's  wrongs,  and  shield  his  later  age. 
What  though  for  him  no  Hybla  sweets  distil, 
Nor  bloomy  vines  wave  purple  on  the  hill ; 
Tell,  that  when  silent  years  have  passed  away, 
That  when  his  eyes  grow  dim.  his  tresses  grey, 
These  busy  hands  a  lovelier  cot  shall  build, 
And  deck  with  fairer  flowers  his  little  field, 
And  call  from  Heaven  propitious  dews  to  breathe 
Arcadian  beauty  on  the  barren  heath ; 
Tell,  that  while  Love's  spontaneous  smile  endears 
The  days  of  peace,  the  sabbath  of  his  yea,rs 

B 


14  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

Health  shall  prolong  to  many  a  festive  hour 
The  social  pleasures  of  his  humble  power. 

Lo !  at  the  couch  where  infant  beauty  sleeps, 
Her  silent  watch  the  mournful  mother  keeps ; 
She,  while  the  lovely  babe  unconscious  lies, 
Smiles  on  her  slumb'riug  child  with  pensive  eyes, 
And  weaves  a  song  of  melancholy  joy — 
"  Sleep,  image  of  thy  father,  sleep,  my  boy: 
No  lingering  hour  of  sorrow  shall  be  thine ; 
No  sigh  that  rends  thy  father's  heart  and  mine ; 
Bright  as  his  manly  sire,  the  son  shall  be 
In  form  and  soul ;  but,  ah !  more  blest  than  he ! 
Thy  fame,  thy  worth,  thy  filial  love,  at  last, 
Shall  soothe  this  aching  heart  for  all  the  past — 
With  many  a  smile  my  solitude  repay, 
And  chase  the  world's  ungenerous  scorn  away. 

"  And  say,  when  summoned  from  the  world  and  thee, 
I  lay  my  head  beneath  the  willow  tree, 
Wilt  thou,  sweet  mourner  !  at  my  stone  appear, 
And  soothe  my  parted  spirit  ling'ring  near? 
Oh,  wilt  thou  come,  at  evening  hour,  to  shed 
The  tears  of  Memory  o'er  my  narrow  bed ; 
With  aching  temples  on  thy  hand  reclined, 
Muse  on  the  last  farewell  I  leave  behind, 
Breathe  a  deep  sigh  to  winds  that  murmur  low, 
And  think  on  all  my  love,  and  all  my  wo  ?" 

So  speaks  affection,  ere  the  infant  eye 
Can  look  regard,  or  brighten  in  reply ; 
But  when  the  cherub  lip  hath  learnt  to  claim 
A  mother's  ear  by  that  endearing  name ; 
Soon  as  the  playful  innocent  can  prove 
A  tear  of  pity,  or  a  smile  of  love, 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  15 

Or  cons  his  murmuring  task  beneath  her  care, 
Or  lisps  with  holy  look  his  ev'ning  prayer, 
Or  gazing,  mutely  pensive,  sits  to  hear 
The  mournful  ballad  warbled  in  his  ear ; 
How  fondly  looks  admiring  Hope  the  while, 
At  every  artless  tear,  and  every  smile ! 
How  glows  the  joyous  parent  to  descry 
A  guileless  bosom,  true  to  sympathy  ! 

Where  is  the  troubled  heart,  consigned  to  share 
Tumultuous  toils,  or  solitary  care, 
Unblest  by  visionary  thoughts  that  stray 
To  count  the  joys  of  Fortune's  better  day  ! 
Lo,  nature,  life,  and  liberty  relume 
The  dim-eyed  tenant  of  the  dungeon  gloom, 
A  long-lost  friend,  or  hapless  child  restored, 
Smiles  at  his  blazing  hearth  and  social  board ; 
Warm  from  his  heart  the  tears  of  rapture  flow, 
And  virtue  triumphs  o'er  remembered  wo. 

Chide  not  his  peace,  proud  Reason !  nor  destroy 
The  shadowy  forms  of  uncreated  joy, 
That  urge  the  lingering  tide  of  life,  and  pour 
Spontaneous  slumber  on  his  midnight  hour. 

Hark !  the  wild  maniac  sings,  to  chide  the  gale 
That  wafts  so  slow  her  lover's  distant  sail ; 
She,  sad  spectatress,  on  the  wintry  shore 
Watched  the  rude  surge  his  shroudless  corse  that  bore, 
Knew  the  pale  form,  and,  shrieking  in  amaze, 
Clasped  her  cold  hands,  and  fixed  her  maddening  gaze : 
Poor  widowed  wretch !  'twas  there  she  wept  in  vain, 
Till  memory  fled  her  agonizing  brain : — 
But  Mercy  gave,  to  charm  the  sense  of  wo, 
Ideal  peace,  that  truth  could  ne'er  bestow ; 


16  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS, 

Warm  on  her  heart  the  joys  of  Fancy  beam, 
And  aimless  Hope  delights  her  darkest  dream. 

Oft  when  yon  moon  has  climbed  the  midnight  sky, 
And  the  lone  seabird  wakes  its  wildest  cry, 
Piled  on  the  steep,  her  blazing  faggots  burn 
To  hail  the  bark  that  never  can  return ; 
And  still  she  waits,  but  scarce  forbears  to  weep, 
That  constant  love  can  linger  on  the  deep. 

And,  mark  the  wretch,  whose  wanderings  never  knew 
The  world's  regard,  that  soothes,  though  half  untrue, 
Whose  erring  heart  the  lash  of  sorrow  bore, 
But  found  not  pity  when  it  erred  no  more. 
Yon  friendless  man,  at  whose  dejected  eye 
Th3  unfeeling  proud  one  looks — and  passes  by ; 
Condemned  on  Penury's  barren  path  to  roam, 
Scorned  by  the  world,  and  left  without  a  home — 
Ev'n  he,  at  evening,  should  he  chance  to  stray 
Down  by  the  hamlet's  hawthorn-scented  way, 
Where,  round  the  cot's  romantic  glade  are  seen 
The  blossomed  bean-field,  and  the  sloping  green, 
Leans  o'er  its  humble  gate,  and  thinks  the  white — 
Oh !  that  for  me  some  home  like  this  would  smile, 
Some  hamlet  shade,  to  yield  my  sickly  form, 
Health  in  the  breeze,  and  shelter  in  the  storm ! 
There  should  my  hand  no  stinted  boon  assign 
To  wretched  hearts  with  sorrow  such  as  mine  ! 
That  generous  wish  can  soothe  unpitied  care, 
And  Hope  half  mingles  with  the  poor  man's  prayer. 

Hope '  when  I  mourn,  with  sympathizing  mind. 
The  wrongs  of  fate,  the  woes  of  human  kind, 
Thy  blissful  omens  bid  my  spirit  see 
The  boundless  fields  of  rapture  yet  to  be ; 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  17 

I  watch  the  wheels  of  Nature's  mazy  plan. 
And  learn  the  future  by  the  past  of  man. 

Come,  bright  Improvement !  on  the  car  of  Time, 
And  rule  the  spacious  world  from  clime  to  clime ; 
Thy  handmaid  arts  shall  every  wild  explore, 
Trace  every  wave,  and  culture  every  shore. 
On  Erie's  banks,  where  tygers  steal  along, 
And  the  dread  Indian  chants  a  dismal  song, 
Where  human  fiends  on  midnight  errands  walk, 
And  bathe  in  brains  the  murderous  tomahawk ; 
There  shall  the  flocks  on  thymy  pasture  stray, 
And  shepherds  dance  at  Summer's  opening  day ; 
Each  wand'ring  genius  of  the  lonely  glen 
Shall  start  to  view  the  glittering  haunts  of  men ; 
And  silent  watch,  on  woodland  heights  around, 
The  village  curfew,  as  it  tolls  profound. 

In  Libyan  groves,  where  damned  rites  are  done, 
That  bathe  the  rocks  in  blood,  and  veil  the  sun, 
Truth  shall  arrest  the  murderous  arm  profane, 
Wild  Obi  flies  (f) — the  veil  is  rent  in  twain. 

Where  barb'rous  hoards  on  Scythian  mountains  roam, 
Truth,  Mercy,  Freedom,  yet  shall  find  a  home ; 
Where'er  degraded  Nature  bleeds,  and  pines, 
From  Guinea's  coast  to  Sibir's  dreary  mines,  (g-) 
Truth  shall  pervade  th5  unfathomed  darkness  there, 
And  light  the  dreadful  features  of  despair. — 
Hark !  the  stern  captive  spurns  his  heavy  load, 
And  asks  the  image  back  that  Heaven  bestowed  : 
Fierce  in  his  eyes  the  fire  of  valour  burns, 
And,  as  the  slave  departs,  the  man  returns  ! 

Oh !  sacred  Truth !  thy  triumph  ceased  awhile, 
And  Hope,  thy  sister,  ceased  with  thee  to  smile, 
B  2 


18  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

When  leagued  Oppression  poured  to  northern  wars 
Her  whiskered  pandoors  and  her  fierce  hussars, 
Waved  her  dread  standard  to  the  breeze  of  morn, 
Pealed  her  loud  drum,  and  twanged  her  trumpet  horn ; 
Tumultuous  horror  brooded  o'er  her  van, 
Presaging  wrath  to  Poland — and  to  man !  (h) 

Warsaw's  last  champion,  from  her  height  surveyed, 
Wide  o'er  the  fields,  a  waste  of  ruin  laid, — 
Oh  !  Heaven  !  he  cried,  my  bleeding  country  save ; 
Is  there  no  hand  on  high  to  shield  the  brave. 
Yet,  though  destruction  sweep  these  lovely  plains, 
llise,  fellow-men !  our  country  yet  remains  ! 
By  that  dread  name,  we  wave  the  sword  on  high, 
And  swear  for  her  to  live ' — with  her  to  die ! 

He  said,  and  on  the  rampart-neights  arrayed 
His  trusty  wrarriors,  few,  but  undismayed ! 
Firm-paced  and  slow,  a  horrid  front  they  form, 
Still  as  the  breeze,  but  dreadful  as  the  storm ; 
Low,  murmuring  sounds  along  their  banners  fly, 
Revenge,  or  death, — the  watchword  and  reply ; 
Then  pealed  the  notes,  omnipotent  to  charm, 
And  the  loud  tocsin  tolled  their  last  alarm ! — 

In  vain,  a*as  .  in  vain,  ye  gallant  few ! 
From  rank-  to  rank  your  volleyed  thunder  flew  : — 
Oh !  bloodiest  picture  in  the  book  of  Time, 
Sarmatia  fell,  unwept,  without  a  crime ; 
Found  not  a  generous  friend,  a  pitying  foe, 
Strength  in  her  arms,  nor  mercy  in  her  wo ! 
Dropt  from  her  nerveless  grasp  the  shattered  spear, 
Closed  her  bright  eye,  and  curbed  her  high  career ! — 
Hope,  for  a  season,  bade  the  world  farewell. 
And  Freedom  shrieked — as  Kosciusko  fell ! 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  19 

The  sun  went  down,  nor  ceased  the  carnage  there, 
Tumultuous  murder  shook  the  midnight  air — 
On  Prague's  proud  arch  the  fires  of  ruin  glow. 
His  blood-dyed  waters  murm'ring  far  below ; 
The  storm  prevails,  the  ramparts  yield  away, 
Bursts  the  wild  cry  of  horror  and  dismay ; 
Hark !  as  the  smouldering  piles  with  thunder  fall, 
A  thousand  shrieks  for  hopeless  mercy  call ! 
Earth  shook — red  meteors  flashed  along  the  sky, 
And  conscious  Nature  shuddered  at  the  cry ! 

Oh !  Righteous  Heaven !  ere  Freedom  found  a  grave 
Why  slept  thy  sword,  omnipotent  to  save  ? 
Where  was  thine  arm,  O  Vengeance  !  where  thy  rod, 
That  smote  the  foes  of  Zion  and  of  God, 
That  crushed  proud  Ammon.  when  his  iron  car 
Was  yoked  in  wrath,  and  thundered  from  afar  ? 
Where  was  the  storm  that  slumbered  till  the  host 
Of  blood-stained  Pharaoh  left  their  trembling  coast  1 
Then  bade  the  deep  in  wild  commotion  flow, 
And  heaved  an  ocean  on  their  march  below  ? 

Departed  spirits  of  the  mighty  deajl ! 
Ye  that  at  Marathon  and  Leuctra  bled ! 
Friends  of  the  world !  restore  your  swords  to  man, 
Fight  in  his  sacred  cause,  and  lead  the  van ! 
Yet  for  Sarmatia's  tears  of  blood  atone, 
And  make  her  arm  puissant  as  your  own ! 
Oh !  once  again  to  Freedom's  cause  return 
The  patriot  Tell — the  Bruce  of  Bannockburn ! 

Yes !  thy  proud  lords,  unpitying  land  !  shall  see 
That  man  hath  yet  a  soul — and  dare  be  free ; 
A  little  while,  along  thy  saddening  plains, 
The  starless  night  of  desolation  reigns ; 


20  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

Truth  shall  restore  the  light  by  Nature  given 
And,  like  Prometheus,  bring  the  fire  of  Heaven ! 
Prone  to  the  dust  Oppression  shall  be  hurled, — 
Her  name,  her  nature,  withered  from  the  world ! 

Ye  that  the  rising  moon  invidious  mark, 
And  hate  the  light — because  your  deeds  are  dark ; 
Ye  that  expanding  truth  invidious  view, 
And  think,  or  wish  the  song  of  Hope  untrue ! 
Perhaps  your  little  hands  presume  to  span 
The  march  of  Genius,  and  the  pow'rs  of  Man ; 
Perhaps  ye  watch,  at  Pride's  unhallowed  shrine, 
Her  victims,  newly  slain,  and  thus  divine  : — 
"  Here  shall  thy  triumph,  Genius,  cease  ;  and  here, 
Truth,  Science,  Virtue,  close  your  short  career." 

Tyrants !  in  vain  ye  trace  the  wizard  ring ; 
In  vain  ye  limit  Mind's  unwearied  spring  : 
What !  can  ye  lull  the  winged  winds  asleep, 
Arrest  the  rolling  world,  or  chain  the  deep  ? 
No : — the  wild  wave  contemns  your  sceptered  hand  ;- 
It  rolled  not  back  when  Canute  gave  command ! 

Man !  can  thy  doom  no  brighter  soul  allow  ? 
Still  must  thou  live  a  blot  on  Nature's  brow  ? 
Shall  War's  polluted  banner  ne'er  be  furled  ? 
Shall  crimes  and  tyrants  cease  but  with  the  world  ? 
What !  are  thy  triumphs,  sacred  Truth,  belied  ? 
Why  then  hath  Plato  lived—or  Sidney  died? 

Ye  fond  adorers  of  departed  fame, 
Who  warm  at  Scipio's  worth,  or  Tully's  name  ; 
Ye  that,  in  fancied  vision,  can  admire 
The  sword  of  Brutus,  and  the  Theban  lyre ! 
Wrapt  in  historic  ardour,  who  adore 
Each  classic  haunt,  and  well-remembered  shore, 


CAMPBELL  S    POEMS.  21 

Where  Valour  tuned,  amid  her  chosen  throng, 
The  Thracian  trumpet  and  the  Spartan  song ; 
Or,  wand'ring  thence,  behold  the  later  charms 
Of  England's  glory,  and  Helvetia's  arms ! 
See  Roman  fire  in  Hampden's  bosom  swell, 
And  fate  and  freedom  in  the  shaft  of  Tell ! 
Say,  ye  fond  zealots  to  the  worth  of  yore, 
Hath  Valour  left  the  world — to  live  no  more  ? 
No  more  shall  Brutus  bid  a  tyrant  die, 
And  sternly  smile  with  vengeance  in  his  eye  ? 
Hampden  no  more,  when  suffering  Freedom  calls. 
Encounter  fate,  and  triumph  as  he  falls  ? 
Nor  Tell  disclose,  through  peril  and  alarm, 
The  might  that  slumbers  in  a  peasant's  arm  ? 

Yes  !  in  that  generous  cause  for  ever  strong, 
The  patriot's  virtue,  and  the  poet's  song, 
Still,  as  the  tide  of  ages  rolls  away, 
Shall  charm  the  world,  unconscious  of  decay ! 

Yes !  there  are  hearts,  prophetic  Hope  may  trust, 
That  slumber  yet  in  uncreated  dust, 
Ordained  to  fire  th'  adoring  sons  of  earth 
With  every  charm  of  wisdom  and  of  worth ; 
Ordained  to  light,  with  intellectual  day, 
The  mazy  wheels  of  Nature  as  they  play, 
Or,  warm  with  Fancy's  energy,  to  glow. 
And  rival  all  but  Shakspeare's  name  below ! 

And  say,  supernal  Powers  !  who  deeply  scan 
Heaven's  dark  decrees,  unfathomed  yet  by  man. 
When  shall  the  world  call  down,  to  cleanse  her  shamea 
That  embryo  spirit,  yefcwithout  a  name, — 
That  friend  of  Nature,  whose  avenging  hands 
Shall  burst  the  Libyan's  adamantine  bands  ? 


22  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

Who,  sternly  marking  on  his  native  soil, 
The  blood,  the  tears,  the  anguish,  and  the  toil, 
Shall  bid  each  righteous  heart  exult,  to  see 

Peace  to  the  slave,  and  vengeance  on  the  free ! 

0 

Yet,  yet,  degraded  men  !  th3  expected  day 
That  breaks  your  bitter  cup,  is  far  away ; 
Trade,  wealth,  and  fashion,  ask  you  still  to  bleed, 
And  holy  men  give  scripture  for  the  deed ; 
Scourged  and  debased,  no  Briton  stoops  to  save 
A  wretch,  a  coward ;  yes,  because  a  slave  ! 

Eternal  Nature !  when  thy  giant  hand 
Had  heaved  the  floods,  and  fixed  the  trembling  land, 
When  life  sprung  startling  at  thy  plastic  call, 
Endless  her  forms,  and  Man  the  lord  of  all ; 
Say,  was  that  lordly  form  inspired  by  thee 
To  wear  eternal  chains,  and  bow  the  knee  ? 
Was  man  ordained  the  slave  of  man  to  toil, 
Yoked  with  the  brutes,  and  fettered  to  the  soil ; 
Weighed  in  a  tyrant's  balance  with  his  gold  ? 
No  ! — Nature  stamped  us  in  a  heavenly  mould; 
She  bade  no  wretch  his  thankless  labour  urge, 
Nor,  trembling,  take  the  pittance  and  the  scourge  ! 
No  homeless  Libyan,  on  the  stormy  deep, 
To  call  upon  his  country's  name,  and  weep  ! 

Lo  !  once  in  triumph  on  his  boundless  plain, 
The  quivered  chief  of  Congo  loved  to  reign  ! 
With  fires  proportioned  to  his  native  sky, 
Strength  in  his  arm,  and  lightning  in  his  eye  ! 
Scoured  with  wild  feet  his  sun-illumined  zone, 
The  spear,  the  lion,  and  the  woods  his  own ! 
Or  led  the  combat,  bold  *viuicut  a  plan, 
An  artless  savage,  but  a  fearless  man ! 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  23 

The  plunderer  came : — alas !  no  glory  smiles 
For  Congo's  chief  on  yonder  Indian  isles ! 
For  ever  fallen  !  no  son  of  Nature  now. 
With  Freedom  chartered  on  his  manly  brow ; 
Faint,  bleeding,  bound,  he  weeps  the  nigUt  away, 
And,  when  the  seawind  wafts  the  dewless  day, 
Starts,  with  a  bursting  heart,  for  ever  more 
To  curse  the  sun  that  lights  their  guilty  shore. 
The  shrill  horn  blew !  (k)  at  that  alarum  knell 
His  guardian  angel  took  a  last  (Vp.well ! 
That  funeral  dirge  to  darkness  IK.....  resigned 
The  fiery  grandeur  of  a  generous  mind ! — 
Poor  fettered  man  !  I  hear  thee  whispering  low 
Unhallowed  vows  to  Guilt,  the  child  of  Wo  ! 
Friendless  thy  heart !  and,  canst  thou  harbour  there 
A  wish  but  death — a  passion  but  despair  ? 

The  widowed  Indian,  when  her  lord  expires, 
Mounts  the  dread  pile,  and  braves  the  funeral  fires ! 
So  falls  the  heart  at  Thraldom's  bitter  sigh ! 
So  Virtue  dies,  the  spouse  of  Liberty! 

But  not  to  Libya's  barren  climes  alone, 
To  Chili,  or  the  wild  Siberian  zone, 
Belong  the  wretched  heart  and  haggard  eye, 
Degraded  worth,  and  poor  misfortune's  sigh ! 
Ye  orient  realms,  where  Ganges'  waters  run ! 
Prolific  fields  !  dominions  of  the  sun  ! 
How  long  your  tribes  have  trembled,  and  obeyed ! 
How  long  was  Timour's  iron  sceptre  swayed  !  (/) 
Whose  marshalled  hosts,  the  lions  of  the  plain, 
From  Scythia's  northern  mountains  to  the  main, 
Raged  o'er  your  plundered  shrines  and  altars  bare, 
With  blazing  torch  and  gory  scimitar, — 
Stunned  with  the  cries  of  death  each  gentle  gale, 
And  bathed  in  blood  the  verdure  of  the  vale  I 


24  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

Yet  could  no  pangs  the  immortal  spirit  tame. 
When  Brama's  children  perished  for  his  name  ; 
The  martyr  smiled  beneath  avenging  pow'r, 
And  braved  th^  tyrant  in  his  torturing  hour ! 

When  Europe  sought  your*subject  realms  to  gain, 
And  stretched  her  giant  sceptre  o'er  the  main, 
Taught  her  proud  barks  their  winding  way  to  shape, 
And  braved  the  stormy  spirit  of  the  Cape ;  (m) 
Children  of  Brama!  then  was  Mercy  nigh 
To  wash  the  stain  of  blood's  eternal  dye  ? 
Did  Peace  descend,  to  triumph  and  to  save, 
When  free-born  Britons  crossed  the  Indian  wave  ? 
Ah,  no  ! — to  more  than  Rome's  ambition  true, 
The  Nurse  of  Freedom  gave  it  not  to  you ! 
She  the  bold  route  of  Europe's  guilt  began, 
And  in  the  march  of  nations,  led  the  van  ! 

Rich  in  the  gems  of  India's  gaudy  zone, 
And  plunder  piled  from  kingdoms  not  their  own 
Degenerate  Trade  !  thy  minions  could  despise 
The  heart-born  anguish  of  a  thousand  cries  ; 
Could  lock,  with  impious  hands,  their  teeming  store, 
While  famished  nations  died  along  the  shore  ;  (n) 
Could  mock  the  groans  of  fellow-men,  and  bear 
The  curse  of  kingdoms  peopled  with  despair ! 
Could  stamp  disgrace  on  man's  polluted  name, 
And  barter,  with  their  gold,  eternal  shame! 

But  hark !  as  bowed  to  earth  the  Bramin  kneels, 
From  heavenly  climes  propitious  thunder  peals ! 
Of  India's  fate  her  guardian  spirits  tell, 
Prophetic  murmurs  breathing  on  the  shell, 
And  solemn  sounds,  that  awe  the  list'ning  mind, 
Roll  on  the  azure  paths  of  every  wind. 


25 

"  Foes  of  mankind  !  (her  guardian  spirits  say) 
Revolving  ages  bring  the  bitter  day, 
When  Heaven's  unerring  arm  shall  fall  on  you, 
And  blood  for  blood  these  Indian  plains  bedew ; 
Nine  times  have  Drama's  \vheels  of  lightning  hurled 
His  awful  presence  o'er  the  alarmed  world !  (o) 
Nine  times  hath  Guilt,  through  all  his  giant  frame, 
Convulsive  trembled  as  the  Mighty  came  ! 
Nine  times  hath  suffering  Mercy  spared  in  vain — 
But  Heaven  shall  burst  her  starry  gates  again  ; 
He  comes  !  dread  Brama  shakes  the  sunless  sky 
With  murmuring  wrath,  and  thunders  from  on  high ! 
Heaven's  fiery  horse,  beneath  his  warrior  form, 
Paws  the  light  clouds,  and  gallops  on  the  storm  ! 
Wide  waves  his  flickering  sword,  his  bright  arms  glow 
Like  summer  suns,  and  light  the  world  below  ! 
Earth,  and  her  trembling  isles  in  Ocean's  bed 
Are  shook,  and  Nature  rocks  beneath  his  tread. 

"  To  pour  redress  on  India's  injured  realm, 
The  oppressor  to  dethrone,  the  proud  to  whelm  ; 
To  chase  destruction  from  her  plundered  shore, 
With  arts  and  arms  that  triumphed  once  before, 
The  tenth  Avater  comes  !  at  Heaven's  command 
Shall  Seriswattee  (p)  wave  her  hallowed  wand  ! 
And  Camdeo  bright !  and  Genesa  sublime, 
Shall  bless  with  joy  their  own  propitious  clime  ! — 
Come,  Heavenly  Powers  !  primeval  peace  restore  ! 
Love  • — Mercy ! — Wisdom !  rule  for  ever  more !" 


END  Off  PART  FIRST. 


G 


PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 

PARTIL 


ANALYSIS  OF  PART  II. 


APOSTROPHE  to  the  power  of  Love — its  intimate  connexion 
with  generous  and  social  Sensibility — allusion  to  that  beautiful 
passage  in  the  beginning  of  the  book  of  Genesis,  which  repre- 
sents the  happiness  of  Paradise  itself  incomplete,  till  love  was 
superadded  to  its  other  blessings — the  dreams  of  future  felicity 
which  a  lively  imagination  is  apt  to  cherish,  when  Hope  is  ani- 
mated by  refined  attachment — this  disposition  to  combine,  in 
one  imaginary  scene  of  residence,  all  that  is  pleasing  in  our  es- 
timate of  happiness,  compared  to  the  skill  of  the  great  artist, 
who  personified  perfect  beauty,  in  the  picture  of  Venus,  by  an 
assemblage  of  the  most  beautiful  features  he  could  find — a  sum- 
mer and  winter  evening  described,  as  they  may  be  supposed  to 
arise  in  the  mind  of  one  who  wishes,  with  enthusiasm,  for  the 
union  of  friendship  and  retirement. 

Hope  and  imagination  inseparable  agents — even  in  those 
contemplative  moments  when  our  imagination  wanders  beyond 
the  boundaries  of  this  world,  our  minds  are  not  unattended 
with  an  impression  that  we  shall  some  day  have  a  wider  and 
listinct  prospect  of  the  universe,  instead  of  the  partial  glimpse 
we  now  enjoy. 

The  last  and  most  sublime  influence  of  Hope,  is  the  con- 
cluding topic  of  the  Poem, — the  predominance  of  a  belief  in  a 
future  state  over  the  terrors  attendant  on  dissolution — the 
baneful  influence  of  that  sceptical  philosophy  which  bars  us 
from  such  comforts — allusion  to  the  fete  of  a  suicide — Episode 
of  Conrad  and  Ellenore— Conclusion. 


THE 

PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 

PART  II. 

In  joyous  youth,  what  soul  hath  never  known 
Thought,  feeling,  taste,  harmonious  to  its  own  ? 
Who  hath  not  paused  while  Beauty's  pensive  eye 
Asked  from  his  heart  the  homage  of  a  sigh  ? 
Who  hath  not  owned  with  rapture-smitten  frame,. 
The  power  of  grace,  the  magic  of  a  name  ? 

There  be,  perhaps,  who  barren  hearts  avow, 
Cold  as  the  rocks  on  Torneo's  hoary  brow ; 
There  be,  whose  loveless  wisdom  never  failed, 
In  self-adoring  pride  securely  mailed  ; — 
But,  triumph  not,  ye  peace-enamoured  few ! 
Fire,  Nature,  Genius,  never  dwelt  with  you ! 
For  you  no  fancy  consecrates  the  scene 
Where  rapture  uttered  vows,  and  wept  between ; 
'Tis  yours,  unmoved  to  sever  and  to  meet ; 
No  pledge  is  sacred,  and  no  home  is  sweet ! 

Who  that  would  ask  a  heart  to  dulness  wed, 
The  waveless  calm,  the  slumber  of  the  dead  ? 
No ;  the  wild  bliss  of  Nature  needs  alloy, 
And  care  and  sorrow  fan  the  fire  of  joy ! 
And  say,  without  our  hopes,  without  our  fears, 
Without  the  home  that  plighted  love  endears, 
Without  the  smiles  from  partial  beauty  won, 
0  !  what  were  man  ? — a  world  without  a  sun ! 

Till  Hymen  brought  his  love-delighted  hour, 
Ther£  dwelt  no  joy  in  Eden's  rosy  bow'r ! 


30  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

In  vain  the  viewless  seraph  ling'ring  there, 

At  starry  midnight  charmed  the  silent  air ; 

In  vain  the  wild-bird  carolled  on  the  steep, 

To  hail  the  sun,  slow-wheeling  from  the  deep ; 

In  vain,  to  soothe  the  solitary  shade, 

Aerial  notes  in  mingling  measure  played ; 

The  summer  wind  that  shqok  the  spangled  tree, 

The  whispering  wave,  the  murmur  of  the  bee  ; — 

Still  slowly  passed  the  melancholy  day. 

And  still  the  stranger  wist  not  where  to.  stray, — 

The  world  was  sad  ! — the  garden  was  a  wild  ! 

And  Man,  the  hermit,  sighed — till  \Yoman  smiled ! 

True,  the  sad  power  to  generous  hearts  may  bring 
Delirious  anguish  on  his  fiery  wing  ! 
Barred  from  delight  by  Fate's  untimely  hand, 
By  wealthless  lot,  or  pitiless  command  ! 
Or  doomed  to  gaze  on  beauties  that  adorn 
The  smile  of  triumph,  or  the  frown  of  scorn ! 
While  Memory  watches  o'er  the  sad  review, 
Of  joys  that  faded  like  the  morning  dew ! 
Peace  may  depart — and  life  and  nature  seem 
A  barren  path— a  wildness,  and  a  dream ! 

But,  can  the  noble  mind  for  ever  brood, 
The  willing  victim  of  a  weary  mood, 
On  heartless  cares  that  squander  life  away, 
And  cloud  young  Genius  bright'ning  into  day  ? 
Shame  to  the  coward  thought  that  e'er  betrayed 
The  noon  of  manhood  to  a  myrtle  shade  !  (a) 
If  Hope's  creative  spirit  cannot  raise 
One  trophy  sacred  to  thy  future  days, 
Scorn  the  dull  crowd  that  haunt  the  gloomy  shrine 
Of  hopeless  love  to  murmur  and  repine  ! 
But,  should  a  sigh  of  milder  mood  express 
Thy  heart-warm  wishes,  true  to  happiness. 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  31 

Should  Heaven's  fair  harbinger  delight  to  pour 

Her  blissful  visions  on  thy  pensive  hour, 

No  tear  to  blot  thy  memory's  pictured  page, 

No  fears  but  such  as  fancy  can  assuage ; 

Though  thy  wild  heart  some  hapless  hour  may  miss, 

The  peaceful  tenor  of  unvaried  bliss, 

(For  love  pursues  an  ever  devious  race. 

True  to  the  winding  lineaments  of  grace ;) 

Yet  still  may  Hope  her  talisman  employ 

To  snatch  from  Heaven  anticipated  joy, 

And  all  her  kindred  energies  impart 

That  burn  the  brightest  in  the  purest  heart ! 

When  first  the  Rhodian's  mimic  art  arrayed 
The  queen  of  Beauty  in  her  Cyprian  shade, 
The  happy  master  mingled  on  his  piece 
Each  look  that  charmed  him  in  the  fair  of  Greece  ! 
To  faultless  Nature  true,  he  stole  a  grace 
From  every  finer  form  and  sweeter  face ! 
And,  as  he  sojourned  on  the  ^Egean  isles, 
Wooed  all  their  love,  and  treasured  all  their  smiles ! 
Then  glowed  the  tints,  pure,  precious,  and  refined, 
And  mortal  charms  seemed  heavenly  when  combined 
Love  on  the  picture  smiled !  Expression  poured 
Her  mingling  spirit  there — and  Greece  adored  ! 

So  thy  fair  hand,  enamoured  Fancy  !  gleans 
The  treasured  pictures  of  a  thousand  scenes  ; 
Thy  pencil  traces  on  the  Lover's  thought 
Some  cottage-home,  from  towns  and  toil  remote, 
Where  Love  and  Lore  may  claim  alternate  hours, 
With  Peace  embosomed  in  Idalian  bow'rs  ; 
Remote  from  busy  life's  bewildered  way, 
O'er  all  his  heart  shall  Taste  and  Beauty  sway; 
Free  on  the  sunny  slope,  or  winding  shore, 
With  hermit  steps  to  wander  and  adore ; 


32  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

There  shall  he  love,  when  genial  morn  appears, 

Like  pensive  beauty  smiling  in  her  tears, 

To  watch  the  bright'ning  roses  of  the  sky, 

And  muse  on  Nature  with  a  poet's  eye  ! 

And  when  the  sun's  last  splendour  lights  the  deep, 

The  woods,  and  waves,  and  murm'ring  winds  asleep  ; 

When  fairy  harps  th'  Hesperian  planets  hail. 

And  the  lone  cuckoo  sighs  along  the  vale, 

His  path  shall  be  where  streamy  mountains  swell 

Their  shadowy  grandeur  o'er  the  narrow  dell, 

Where  mouldering  piles  and  forests  intervene, 

Mingling  with  darker  tints  the  living  green  ! 

No  circling  hills  his  ravished  eye  to  bound, 

Heaven,  earth,  and  ocean,  blazing  all  around ! 

The  moon  is  up — the  watch-tower  dimly  burns — 
And  down  the  vale  his  sober  step  returns  ; 
But  pauses  oft  as  winding  rocks  convey 
The  still  sweet  fall  of  Music  far  away ! 
And  oft  he  lingers  from  his  home  awhile 
To  watch  the  dying  notes ! — and  start,  and  smile ! 

Let  Winter  come !  let  polar  spirits  sweep 
The  darkening  world,  and  tempest-troubled  deep ! 
Though  boundless  snows  the  withered  heath  deform, 
And  the  dim  sun  scarce  wanders  through  the  storm  ! 
Yet  shall  the  smile  of  social  love  repay, 
With  mental  light,  the  melancholy  day ! 
And,  when  its  short  and  sullen  noon  is  o'er, 
The  ice-chained  waters  slumbering  on  the  shore, 
How  bright  the  faggots  in  his  little  hall 
Blaze  on  the  hearth,  and  warm  the  pictured  wall ' 

How  blest  he  names,  in  Love's  familiar  tone, 
The  kind  fair  friend,  by  nature  marked  his  own  f 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  33 

And,  in  the  waveless  mirror  of  his  mind, 
Views  the  fleet  years  of  pleasure  left  behind, 
Since  Anna's  empire  o'er  his  heart  began  ! 
Since  first  he  called  her  his  before  the  holy  man ! 

Trim  the  gay  taper  in  his  rustic  dome, 
And  light  the  wint'ry  paradise  of  home ! 
And  let  the  half-uncurtained  window  hail 
Some  way-worn  man  benighted  in  the  vale  ! 
Now,  while  the  moaning  night-wind  rages  high, 
As  sweep  the  shot-stars  down  the  troubled  sky, 
While  fiery  hosts  in  Heaven's  wide  circle  play, 
And  bathe  in  livid  light  the  milky-way, 
Safe  from  the  storm,  the  meteor,  and  the  shower, 
Some  pleasing  page  shall  charm  the  solemn  hour — 
With  pathos  shall  command,  with  wit  beguile, 
A  generous  tear  of  anguish,  or  a  smile — 
Thy  woes,  Arion  I  and  thy  simple  tale,  (6) 
O'er  all  the  heart  shall  triumph  and  prevail ! 
Charmed  as  they  read  the  verse  too  sadly  true, 
How  gallant  Albert,  and  his  weary  crew, 
Heaved  all  their  guns,  their  foundering  bark  to  save, 
And  toiled — and  shrieked — and  perished  on  the  wave  ! 

Yes,  at  the  dead  of  night,  by  Lonna's  steep, 
The  seamen's  cry  was  heard  along  the  deep ; 
There  on  his  funeral  waters,  dark  and  wild, 
The  dying  father  blest  his  darling  child  ! 
Oh !  Mercy,  shield  her  innocence,  he  cried, 
Spent  on  the  prayer  his  bursting  heart,  and  died ! 

Or  will  they  learn  how  generous  worth  sublimes 
The  robber  Moor,  (c)  and  pleads  for  all  his  crimes ! 
How  poor  Amelia  kissed  with  many  a  tear, 
His  hand  blood-stained,  but  ever  ever^ear  I 


34  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

Hung  on  the  tortured  bosom  of  her  lord. 
And  wept,  and  prayed  perdition  from  his  sword ! 
Nor  sought  in  vain  !  at  that  heart-piercing  cry 
The  strings  of  nature  cracked  with  agony ! 
He,  with  delirious  laugh,  the  dagger  hurled, 
And  burst  the  ties  that  bound  him  to  the  world  ! 

Turn  from  his  dying  words,  that  smite  with  steel 
The  shuddering  thoughts,  or  wind  them  on  the  wheel — 
Turn  to  the  gentler  melodies  that  suit 
Thalia's  harp,  or  Pan's  Arcadian  lute ; 
Or,  down  the  stream  of  Truth's  historic  page. 
From  clime  to  clime  descend,  from  age  to  age ! 

Yet  there,  perhaps,  may  darker  scenes  obtrude 
Than  Fancy  fashions  in  her  wildest  mood  ; 
There  shall  he  pause,  with  horrent  brow,  to  rate 
What  millions  died— that  Caesar  might  be  great !  (d) 
Or  learn  the  fate  that  bleeding  thousands  bore,  (e) 
Marched  by  their  Charles  to  Dneiper's  swampy  shore ; 
Faint  in  his  wounds,  and  shivering  in  the  blast, 
The  Swedish  soldier  sunk — and  groaned  his  last ! 
File  after 'file,  the  stormy  showers  benumb, 
Freeze  every  standard-sheet,  and  hush  the  drum  ! 
Horsemen  and  horse  confessed  the  bitter  pang, 
And  arms  and  warriors  fell  with  hollow  clang  ! 
Yet,  ere  he  sunk  in  Nature's  last  repose, 
Ere  life's  warm  torrent  to  the  fountain  froze, 
The  dying  man  *o  Sweden  turned  his  eye, 
Thought  of  his  home,  and  closed  it  with  a  sigh ! 
Imperial  pride  looked  sullen  on  his  plight, 
And  Charles  beheld — nor  shuddered  at  the  sight ! 

Above,  below,  in  Ocean,  Earth,  and  Sky, 
Thy  fairy  worlds,  Imagination,  lie. 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  35 

And  Hope  attends,  companion  of  the  way. 
Thy  dream  by  night,  thy  visions  of  the  day  ! 
In  yonder  pensile  orb,  and  every  sphere 
That  gems  the  starry  girdle  of  the  year ! 
In  those  unmeasured  worlds,  she  bids  thee  tell, 
Pure  from  their  God,  created  millions  dwell, 
Whose  names  and  natures,  unrevealed  below, 
We  yet  shall  learn,  and  wonder  as  we  know  ; 
For,  as  lona's  Saint,  a  giant  form,  (/) 
Throned  on  her  tow'rs,  conversing  with  the  storm, 
(When  o'er  each  Runic  altar,  weed-entwined, 
The  vesper  clock  tolls  mournful  to  the  wind,) 
Counts  every  wave -worn  isle,  and  mountain  hoar. 
From  Kilda  to  the  green  lerne's  shore ; 
So,  when  thy  pure  and  renovated  mind 
This  perishable  dust  hath  left  behind, 
Thy  seraph  eye  shall  count  the  starry  train, 
Like  distant  isles  embosomed  in  the  main ; 
Rapt  to  the  shrine  where  motion  first  began, 
And  light,  and  life  in  mingling  torrent  ran, 
From  whence  each  bright  rotundity  was  hurled, 
The  throne  of  God, — the  centre  of  the  world ! 

Oh !  vainly  wise,  the  moral  Muse  hath  sung 
That  suasive  Hope  hath  but  a  Syren  tongue ! 
True ;  she  may  sport  with  life's  untutored  day, 
Nor  heed  the  solace  of  its  last  decay, 
The  guileless  heart  her  happy  mansion  spurn, 
And  part  like  Ajut — never  to  return !  (g) 

But  yet,  methinks,  when  Wisdom  shall  assuage 
The  griefs  and  passions  of  our  greener  age, 
Though  dull  the  close  of  life,  and  far  away 
Each  flow'r  that  hailed  the  dawning  of  the  day ; 
Yet  o'er  her  lovely  hopes  that  once  were  dear, 
The  time-taught  spirit,  pensive,  not  severe, 


36  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

With  milder  griefs  her  aged  eye  shall  fill, 

And  weep  their  falsehood,  though  she  love  them  still  1 

Thus,  with  forgiving  tears,  and  reconciled, 
The  king  of  Judah  mourned  his  rehel  child  ! 
Musing  on  days,  when  yet  the  guiltless  boy 
Smiled  on  his  sire,  and  filled  his  heart  with  joy ! 
My  Absalom !  (the  voice  of  nature  cried !) 
Oh !  that  for  thee  thy  father  could  have  died ! 
For  bloody  was  the  deed  and  rashly  done, 
•That  slew  rny  Absalom ! — my  son ! — my  son ! 

Unfading  Hope ;  when  life's  last  embers  burn, 
When  soul  to  soul,  and  dust  to  dust  return ! 
Heaven  to  thy  charge  resigns  the  awful  hour ! 
Oh !  then,  thy  kingdom  comes  !  Immortal  Power ! 
What  though  each  spark  of  earth-born  rapture  fly 
The  quivering  lip,  pale  cheek,  and  closing  eye 
Bright  to  the  soul  thy  seraph  hands  convey 
The  morning  dream  of  life's  eternal  day — 
Then,  then,  the  triumph  and  the  trance  begin ! 
Anil  all  the  Phoenix  spirit  burns  within  ! 

Oh !  deep  enchanting  prelude  to  repose, 
The  dawn  of  bliss,  the  twilight  of  our  woes ! 
Yet  half  I  hear  the  parting  spirit  sigh, 
It  is  a  dread  and  awful  thing  to  die  ! 
Mysterious  worlds,  untravelled  by  the  sun ! 
Where  Time's  far-wand'ring  tide  has  never  run, 
From  your  unfathomed  shades,  and  viewless  spheres, 
A  warning  conies,  unheard  by  other  ears. 
3Tis  Heaven's  commanding  trumpet,  long  and  loud, 
Like  Sinai's  thunder,  pealing  from  the  cloud ! 
While  Nature  hears,  with  terror-mingled  trust, 
^he  shock  that  hurls  her  fabric  to  the  dust ; 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  37 

And,  like  the  trembling  Hebrew,  when  he  trod 
The  roaring  waves,  and  called  upon  his  God, 
With  mortal  terrors  clouds  immortal  bliss, 
And  shrieks,  and  hovers  o'er  the  dark  abyss ! 

Daughter  of  Faith,  awake,  arise,  illume 
The  dread  unknown,  the  chaos  of  the  tomb  ! 
Melt,  and  dispel,  ye  spectre  doubts,  that  roll 
Cimmerian  darkness  on  the  parting  soul ! 
Fly,  like  the  moon-eyed  herald  of  Dismay, 
Chased  on  his  night-steed  by  the  star  of  day ! 
The  strife  is  o'er — the  pangs  of  Nature  close, 
And  life's  last  rapture  triumphs  o'er  her  woes. 
Hark  !  as  the  spirit  eyes,  with  eagle  gaze, 
The  noon  of  Heaven  undazzled  by  the  blaze, 
On  Heavenly  winds  that  waft  her  to  the  sky, 
Float  the  sweet  tones  of  star-born  melody ; 
Wild  as  that  hallowed  anthem  sent  to  hail 
Bethlehem's 'shepherds  in  the  lonely  vale. 
When  Jordan  hushed  his  waves,  and  midnight  still 
Watched  on  the  holy  towers  of  Zion  hill ! 

Soul  of  the  just !  companion  of  the  dead  ! 
Where  is  thy  home,  and  whither  art  thou  fled  ? 
Back  to  its  heavenly  source  thy  being  goes, 
Swift  as  the  comet  wheels  to  whence  he  rose ; 
Doomed  on  his  airy  path  awhile  to  burn, 
And  doomed,  like  thee,  to  travel  and  return. — 
Hark !  from  the  world's  exploding  centre  driven. 
With  sounds  that  shook  the  firmament  of  Heaven, 
Careers  the  fiery  giant,  fast  and  far, 
On  bick'ring  wheels,  and  adamantine  car ; 
From  planet  whirled  to  planet  more  remote. 
He  visits  realms  beyond  the  reach  of  thought ; 
But,  wheeling  homeward,  when  his  course  is  run^ 
Curbs  the  red  yoke,  and  mingles  with  the  sun  I 
D 


38  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

So  hath  the  traveller  of  earth  unfurled 
Her  trembling  wings,  emerging  from  the  world  ; 
And  o'er  the  path  by  mortal  never  trod, 
Sprung  to  her  source,  the  bosom  of  her  God  ! 

Oh  !  lives  there,  Heaven  !  beneath  thy  dread  expanse, 
One  hopeless,  dark  Idolater  of  Chance, 
Content  to  feed,  with  pleasures  unrefined, 
The  lukewarm  passions  of  a  lowly  mind  ; 
Who,  mould'ring  earthward,  'reft  of  every  trust,, 
In  joyless  union  Wedded  to  the  dust, 
Could  all  his  parting  energy  dismiss, 
And  call  this  barren  world  sufficient  bliss  ? — 
There  live,  alas !  of  Heaven-directed  mien, 
Of  cultured  soul,  and  sapient  eye  serene, 
Who  hailed  thee,  Man  !  the  pilgrim  of  a  day, 
Spouse  of  the  worm,  and  brother  of  the  clay  I 
Frail  as  the  leaf  in  Autumn's  yellow  bower, 
Dust  in  the  wind,  or  dew  upon  the  flower  ! 
*A  friendless  slave,  a  child  without  a  sire, 
Whose  mortal  life,  and  momentary  fire, 
Lights  to  the  grave  his  chance-created  ibrrp 
As  ocean-wrecks  illuminate  the  storm  ; 
And  when  the  gun's  tremendous  flash  is  o'er, 
To  Night  and  Silence  sink  for  ever  more  ! — 
Are  these  the  pompous  tidings  ye  proclaim, 
Lights  of  the  world,  and  demi-gods  of  Fame  ? 
Is  this  your  triumph — this  your  proud  applause, 
Children  of  Truth,  and  champions  of  her  cause  ? 
For  this  hath  Science  searched,  on  weary  wing, 
By  shore  and  sea — each  mute  and  living  thing  ? 
Launched  with  Iberia's  pilot  from  the  steep, 
To  worlds  unknown,  and  isles  beyond  the  deep  ? 
Or  round  the  cope  her  living  chariot  driven, 
And  wheeled  in  triumph  through  the  signs  of  Heaven  ? 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  39 

Oh !  star-eyed  Science,  hast  thou  wandered  there, 

To  waft  us  home  the  message  of  despair  ? 

Then  bind  the  palm,  thy  sage's  brow  to  suit, 

Of  blasted  leaf,  and  death-distilling  fruit ! 

Ah  me !  the  laurelled  wreath  that  murder  rears. 

Blood-nursed,  and  watered  by  the  widow's  tears, 

Seems  not  so  foul,  so  tainted,  and  so  dread, 

As  waves  the  night-shade  round  the  skeptic  head. 

What  is  the  bigot's  torch,  the  tyrant's  chain  ? 

I  smile  on  death,  if  Heav'n-ward  Hope  remain ! 

But,  if  the  warring  winds  of  Nature's  strife 

Be  all  the  faithless  charter  of  my  life, 

If  Chance  awaked,  inexorable  power  1 

This  frail  and  feverish  being  of  an  hour, 

Doomed  o'er  the  world's  precarious  scene  to  sweep, 

Swift  as  the  tempest  travels  on  the  deep, 

To  know  Delight  but  by  her  parting  smile, 

And  toil,  and  wish,  and  weep,  a  little  while ; 

Then  melt,  ye  elements,  that  formed  in  vain 

This  troubled  pulse,  and  visionary  brain ! 

Fade,  ye  wild  flowers,  memorials  of  my  doom ! 

And  sink,  ye  stars,  that  light  me  to  the  tomb  ! 

Truth,  ever  lovely,  since  the  world  began, 

The  foe  of  tyrants,  and  the  friend  of  man, — 

How  can  thy  words  from  balmy  slumber  start 

Reposing  Virtue,  pillowed  on  the  heart ! 

Yet,  if  thy  voice  the  note  of  thunder  rolled, 

And  that  were  true,  which  Nature  never  told, 

Let  wisdom  smile  not  on  her  conquered  field  ; 

No  rapture  dawns,  no  treasure  is  revealed ! 

Oh  !  let  her  read,  nor  loudly,  nor  elate, 

The  doom  that  bars  us  from  a  better  fate  ; 

But,  sad  as  angels  for  the  good  man's  sin, 

Weep  to  record,  and  blush  to  give  it  in ! 


40 

And  well  may  Doubt,  the  mother  of  Dismay, 
Pause  at  her  martyr's  tomb,  and  read  the  lay. 
Down  by  the  wilds  of  yon  deserted  vale, 
It  darkly  hints  a  melancholy  tale ! 
There,  as  the  homeless  madman  sits  alone, 
la  hollow  winds  he  hears  a  spirit  moan  ! 
And  there,  they  say,  a  wizard  orgie  crowds, 
When  the  moon  lights  her  watch-tower  in  the  clouds, 
Poor,  lost  Alonzo  !  Fate's  neglected  child  ! 
Mild  be  the  doom  of  Heaven — as  thou  wert  mild  I 
For  oh !  thy  heart  in  holy  mould  was  cast, 
And  all  thy  deeds  were  blameless,  but  the  last. 
Poor,  lost  Alonzo  !  still  I  seem  to  hear 
The  clod  that  struck  thy  hollow-sounding  bier  ! 
When  Friendship  paid,  in  speechless  sorrow  drowned. 
Thy  midnight  rites,  but  not  on  hallowed  ground  I 

Cease  every  joy  to  glimmer  on  my  mind, 
But  leave — oh  !  leave  the  light  of  Hope  behind  ! 
What  though  my  winged  hours  of  bliss  have  been, 
Like  angel-visits,  few,  and  far  between  ! 
Her  musing  mood  shall  every  pang  appease, 
And  charm — when  pleasures  lose  the  power  to  please  ! 

Yes !  let  each  rapture,  dear  to  Nature,  flee  ; 
Close  not  the  light  of  Fortune's  stormy  sea — 
Mirth,  Music,  Friendship,  Love's  propitious  smile, 
Chase  every  care,  and  charm  a  little  while, 
Extatic  throbs  the  fluttering  heart  employ, 
And  all  her  strings  are  harmonized  to  joy  ! — 
But  why  so  short  is  Love's  delighted  hour  ? 
Why  fades  the  dew  on  Beauty's  sweetest  flower  ? 
Why  can  no  hymned  charm  of  Music  heal 
The  sleepless  woes  impassioned  spirits  feel  ? 
Can  Fancy's  fairy  hands  no  veil  create, 
To  hide  the  sad  realities  of  fate  ?— 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  41 

No  !  not  the  quaint  remark,  the  sapient  rule, 
Nor  all  the  pride  of  Wisdom's  worldly  school, 
Have  power  to  soothe,  unaided  and  alone, 
The  heart  that  vibrates  to  a  feeling  tone ! 
When  stepdame  Nature  every  bliss  recalls, 
Fleet  as  the  meteor  o'er  the  desert  falls  ; 
WThen,  'reft  of  all,  yon  widowed  sire  appears 
A  lonely  hermit  in  the  vale  of  years  ; 
Say,  can  the  world  one  joyous  thought  bestow 
To  Friendship,  weeping  at  the  couch  of  Wo  ? 
No  !  but  a  brighter  soothes  the  last  adieu, — 
Souls  of  impassioned  mould,  she  speaks  to  you  ! 
Weep  not,  she  says,  at  Nature's  transient  pain, 
Congenial  spirits  part  to  meet  again  ! — 

What  plaintive  sobs  thy  filial  spirit  drew, 
What  sorrow  choked  thy  long  and  last  adieu, 
Daughter  of  Conrad  !  when  he  heard  his  knell, 
And  bade  his  country  and  his  child  farewell ! 
Doomed  the  long  isles  of  Sydney  Cove  to  see, 
The  martyr  of  his  crimes,  but  true  to  thee  ? 
Thrice  the  sad  father  tore  thee  from  his  heart, 
And  thrice  returned,  to  bless  thee  and  to  part ; 
Thrice  from  his  trembling  lips  he  murmured  low 
The  plaint  that  owned  unutterable  wo  ; 
Till  Faith,  prevailing  o'er  his  sullen  doom, 
As  burst  the  morning  on  night's  unfathomed  gloom, 
Lured  his  dim  eye  to  deathless  hopes  sublime, 
Beyond  the  realms  of  Nature  and  of  time ! 

"  And  weep  not  thus,  (he  cried)  young  Ellenore, 
My  bosom  bleeds,  but  soon  shall  bleed  no  more  ! 
Short  shall  this  half-extinguished  spirit  burn, 
And  soon  these  limbs  to  kindred  dust  return ! 
But  not,  my  child,  with  life's  precarious  fire, 
The  immortal  ties  of  Nature  shall  expire ; 
D  2 


42  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

These  shall  resist  the  triumph  of  decay 
When  time  is  o'er,  and  worlds  have  passed  away ! 
Cold  in  the  dust  this  perished  heart  may  lie. 
But  that  which  warmed  it  once  shall  never  die ! 
That  spark  unburied  in  its  mortal  frame, 
With  living  light,  eternal,  and  the  same. 
Shall  beam  on  Joy's  interminable  years, 
Unveiled  by  darkness— unassuaged  by  tears  ! 

"  Yet  on  the  barren  shore  and  stormy  deep, 
One  tedious  watch  is  Conrad  doomed  to  weep ; 
But  when  I  gain  the  home  without  a  friend, 
And  press  th'  uneasy  couch  where  none  attend, 
This  last  embrace,  still  cherished  in  my  heart, 
Shall  calm  the  struggling  spirit  ere  it  part ! 
Thy  darling  form  shall  seem  to  hover  nigh, 
And  hush  the  groan  of  life's  last  agony  ! 

*  Farewell !  when  strangers  lift  thy  father's  bier, 
And  place  my  nameless  stone  without  a  tear ; 
When  each  returning  pledge  hath  told  my  child 
That  Conrad's  tomb  is  on  the  desert  piled ; 
And  when  the  dream  of  troubled  fancy  sees 
Its  lonely  rank  grass  waving  in  the  breeze ; 
Who  then  will  soothe  thy  grief  when  mine  is  o'er  ? 
Who  will  protect  thee,  helpless  Ellenore  ? 
Shall  secret  scenes  thy  filial  sorrows  hide, 
Scorned  by  the  world,  to  factious  guilt  allied  ? 
Ah  !  no ;  methinks  the  generous  and  the  good 
Will  woo  thee  from  the  shades  of  solitude ! 
O'er  friendless  grief  compassion  shall  awake, 
And  smile  on  Innocence,  for  Mercy's  sake !" 

Inspiring  thought  of  rapture  yet  to  be, 
The  tears  of  love  were  hopeless,  but  for  thee  \ 


,  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS  43 

If  in  that  frame  no  deathless  spirit  dwell, 

If  that  faint  murmur  be  the  last  farewell ! 

If  fate  unite  the  faithful  but  to  part. 

Why  is  their  memory  sacred  to  the  heart  ? 

Why  does  the  brother  of  my  childhood  seem 

Restored  awhile  in  every  pleasing  dream  ? 

Why  do  I  joy  the  lonely  spot  to  view, 

By  artless  friendship  blessed  when  life  was  new  ? 

Eternal  Hope  !  when  yonder  spheres  sublime 
Pealed  their  first  notes  to  sound  the  march  of  Time, 
Thy  joyous  youth  began — but  not  to  fade. — 
When  all  the  sister  planets  have  decayed  ; 
When  wrapt  in  fire  the  realms  of  ether  glow, 
And  Heaven's  last  thunder  shakes  the  world  below ; 
Thou,  undismayed  shalt  o'er  the  ruins  smile, 
And  light  thy  torch  at  Nature's  funoral  pile ! 


END   OF   PART    SECOND. 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING; 

OR   THE 

PENNSYLVANIA^  COTTAGE. 
PART    I. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


Most  of  the  popular  histories  of  England,  as  well  as  of  the 
American  war,  give  an  authentic  account  of  the  desolation  of 
Wyoming,  in  Pennsylvania,  which  took  place  in  1778,  by  an 
incursion  of  the  Indians.  The  Scenery  and  Incidents  of  the 
following  Poem  are  connected  with  that  event.  The  testimo- 
nies of  historians  and  travellers  concur  in  describing  the  infant 
colony  as  one  of  the  happiest  spots  of  human  existence,  for 
the  hospitable  and  innocent  manners  of  the  inhabitants,  the 
beauty  of  the  country,  and  the  luxuriant  fertility  of  the  soil 
and  climate.  In  an  evil  hour,  the  junction  of  European  with 
Indian  arms,  converted  this  terrestrial  paradise  into  a  frightful 
waste.  Mr.  Isaac  Weld  informs  us,  that  the  ruins  of  manv  of 
the  villages,  perforated  with  balls,  and  bearing  marks  of  confla- 
gration were  still  preserved  by  the  recent  inhabitants,  when 
he  travelled  through  America  in  1796. 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING 


PART  I. 

I. 

ON  Susquehanna's  side,  fair  Wyoming ! 
Although  the  wild-flower  on  thy  ruined  wall 
And  roofless  homes  a  sad  remembrance  bring 
Of  what  thy  gentle  people  did  befall, 
Yet  thou  wert  once  the  lovliest  land  of  all 
That  see  the  Atlantic  wave  their  morn  restore. 
Sweet  land !  may  I  thy  lost  delights  recall, 
And  paint  thy  Gertrude  in  her  bowers  of  yore, 
Whose  beauty  was  the  love  of  Pennsylvania's  shore 

II. 

Delightful  Wyoming !  beneath  thy  skies, 
The  happy  shepherd  swains  had  nought  to  do, 
But  feed  their  flocks  on  green  declivities, 
Or  skim  perchance  thy  lake  with  light  canoe, 
From  morn,  till  evening's  sweeter  pastime  grew, 
With  timbrel,  when  beneath  the  forests  brown, 
The  lovely  maidens  would  the  dance  renew : 
And  aye  those  sunny  mountains  half-way  down 
Would  echo  flagelet  from  some  romantic  town. 

III. 

Then,  tvhere  on  Indian  hills  the  daylight  takes 
His  leave,  how  might  you  the  flamingo  see 
Disporting  like  a  meteor  on  the  lakes 
And  playful  squirrel  on  his  nut-grown  tree  : 
And  every  sound  of  life  was  full  of  glee, 
From  mercy  rnock-bird's  scng,  or  hum  of  men, 
While  heark'ning,  fearing  nought  their  revelry, 


48  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

The  wild  deer  arched  his  neck  from  glades,  and  then 
Unhunted,  sought  his  woods  and  wilderness  again. 

IV. 

And  scarce  had  Wyoming  of  war  or  crime 

Heard  but  in  transatlantic  story  rung, 

For  here  the  exile  met  from  every  clime, 

And  spoke  in  friendship  ev'ry  distant  tongue : 

Men  from  the  blood  of  warring  Europe  sprung, 

Were  but  divided  by  the  running  brook ; 

And  happy  where  no  Rhenish  trumpet  sung, 

On  plains  no  sieging  mine's  volcano  shook,          [hook. 

The  blue-eyed  German  changed  his  sword  to  pruning 

V. 

Nor  far  some  Andalusian  saraband 

Would  sound  to  many  a  native  roundelay. 

But  who  is  he  that  yet  a  dearer  land 

Remembers  over  hills  and  far  away  ? 

Green  Albyn  !*  what  though  he  no  more  survey 

Thy  ships  at  anchor  on  the  quiet  shore, 

Thy  pellochs  rolling  from  the  mountain  bay 

Thy  lone  sepulchral  cairn  upon  the  moor, 

And  distant  isles  that  hear  the  loud  Corbrechtan  roar  !t 

VI. 

Alas  poor  Caledonia's  mountaineer, 
That  want's  stern  edict  e'er,  and  feudal  grief, 
Had  forced  him  from  a  home  he  loved  so  dear ! 
Yet  found  he  here  a  home,  and  glad  relief, 
And  plied  the  beverage  from  his  own  fair  sheaf, 
That  fired  his  Highland  blood  with  mickle  glee ; 
And  England  sent  her  men,  of  men  the  chief, 

*  Scotland. 
t  The  great  whirlpool  of  the  Western  Hebrides. 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  49 

Who  taught  those  sires  of  Empire  yet  to  be, 

To  plant  the  tree  of  life, — to  plant  fair  freedom's  tree  ! 

VII. 

Here  was  not  mingled  in  the  city's  pomp 
Of  life's  extremes  the  grandeur  and  the  gloom ; 
Judgment  awoke  not  here  her  dismal  tromp, 
Nor  Isealed  in  blood  a  fellow-creature's  doom, 
Nor  mourned  the  captive  in  a  living  tomb. 
One  venerable  man,,  beloved  of  all, 
Sufficed  where  innocence  was  yet  in  bloom, 
To  sway  the  strife,  that  seldom  might  befall, 
And  Albert  was  their  judge  in  patriarchal  hall. 

VIII. 

How  reverend  was  the  look,  serenely  aged, 
He  bore,  this  gentle  Pennsylvanian  sire, 
Where,  all  but  kindly  fervours  were  assuaged, 
Undimmed  by  weakness'  shade,  or  turbid  ire  ; 
And  though  amidst  the  calm  of  thought  entire, 
Some  high  and  haughty  features  might  betray 
A  soul  impetuous  once,  'twas  earthly  fire 
That  fled  composure's  intellectual  ray, 
As  JEtna's  fires  grow  dim  before  the  rising  day. 

IX. 

I  boast  no  song  in  magic  wonders  rife, 
But  yet,  oh  Nature  !  is  there  nought  to  prize, 
Familiar  in  thy  bosom-scenes  of  life  ? 
And  dwells  in  daylight  truth's  salubrious  skies 
No  form  with  which  the  soul  may  sympathize  ? 
Young,  innocent,  on  whose  sweet  forehead  mild 
The  parted  ringlet  shone  in  simplest  guise. 
An  inmate  in  the  home  of  Albert  smiled, 
Or  blest  his  noonday  walk — she  was  his  only  child. 
E 


50  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

X. 

The  rose  of  England  bloomed  on  Gertrude's  cheek 

What  though  these  shades  had  seen  her  birth,  her  sire 

A  Briton's  independence  taught  to  seek 

Far  western  worlds ;  and  there  his  household  fire 

The  light  of  social  love  did  long  inspire, 

And  many  a  halcyon  day  he  lived  to  see 

Unbroken,  but  by  one  misfortune  dire. 

When  fate  had  'reft  his  mutual  heart — but  she    [knee. 

Was  gone — and  Gertrude  climbed  a  widowed  father's 

XL 

A  loved  bequest, — and  I  may  half  impart 

To  them  that  feel  the  strong  paternal  tie, 

How  like  a  new  existence  to  his  heart 

Uprose  that  living  flower  beneath  his  eye, 

Dear  as  she  was,  from  cherub  infancy, 

From  hours  when  she  would  round  his  garden  play, 

To  time  when  as  the  rip'ning  years  went  by, 

Her  lovely  mind  could  culture  well  repay, 

And  more  engaging  grew,  from  pleasing  day  to  day. 

XII. 

I  may  not  paint  those  thousand  infant  charms  ; 

Unconscious  fascination,  undesigned !) 

The  orison  repeated  in  his  arms, 

For  God  to  bless  her  sire  and  all  mankind ; 

The  book,  the  bosom  on  his  knee  reclined, 

Or  how  sweet  fairy-lore  he  heard  her  con, 

(The  playmate  ere  the  teacher  of  her  mind  :) 

All  uncompanioned  else  her  years  had  gone        [shone. 

Till  now  in  Gertrude's  eyes  their  ninth  blue  summer 

XIII. 

And  summer  was  the  tide,  and  sweet  the  hour, 
When  sire  and  daughter  saw,  with  fleet  descent, 


POEMS.  51 

An  Indian  from  his  bark  approach  their  bower, 

Of  buskin'd  limb,  and  swarthy  lineament ; 

The  red  wild  feathers  on  his  brow  were  blent, 

And  bracelets  bound  the  arm  that  helped  to  light 

A  boy,  who  seemed,  as  he  beside  him  went, 

Of  Christian  vesture,  and  complexion  bright, 

Led  by  his  dusky  guide  like  morning  brought  by  night. 

XIV. 

Yet  pensive  seemed  the  boy  for  one  so  young, 

The  dimple  from  his  polished  cheek  had  fled ; 

When,  leaning  on  his  forest-bow  unstrung, 

Th'  Oneyda  warrior  to  the  planter  said, 

And  laid  his  hand  upon  the  stripling's  head, 

"  Peace  be  to  thee  !  my  words  this  belt  approve ; 

The  paths  of  peace  my  steps  have  hither  led : 

This  little  nursling,  take  him  to  thy  love,  [dove. 

And  shield  the  bird  unfledged,  since  gone  the  parent 

XV. 

•{  Christian !  I  am  the  foeman  of  thy  foe  ; 

Our  wampum  league  thy  brethren  did  embrace  : 

Upon  the  Michigan,  three  moons  ago, 

We  launched  our  quivers  for  the  bison  chase  ; 

And  with  the  Hurons  planted  for  a  space, 

With  true  and  faithful  hands,  the  olive-stalk ; 

But  snakes  are  in  the  bosoms  of  their  race, 

And  though  they  held  with  us  a  friendly  talk, 

The  hollow  peace-tree  fell  beneath  their  tomakawk ! 

XVI. 

"  It  was  encamping  on  the  lake's  far  port, 

A  cry  of  Areouski*  broke  our  sleep, 

Where  stormed  an  ambushed  foe  thy  nation's  fort, 

And  rapid  rapid  whoops  came  o'er  the  deep ; 

*  The  Indian  God  of  War, 


52  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

But  long  thy  country's  war-sign  on  the  steep 

Appeared  through  ghastly  intervals  of  light, 

And  deathfully  their  thunders  seemed  to  sweep, 

Till  utter  darkness  swallowed  up  the  sight, 

As  if  a  shower  of  blood  had  quenched  the  fiery  fight ' 

XVII. 

"  I  slept — it  rose  again — on  high  their  tow'r 

Sprung  upwards  like  a  torch  to  light  the  skies, 

Then  down  again  it  rained  an  ember  shower, 

And  louder  lamentations  heard  we  rise  : 

As  when  the  evil  Manitou*  that  dries 

The  Ohio  woods,  consumes  them  in  his  ire, 

In  vain  the  desolated  panther  flies, 

And  howls,  amidst  his  wilderness  of  fire  : 

Alas!  too  late,  we  reached  and  smote  those  Hurons  dire  I 

XVIII. 

"  But  as  the  fox  beneath  the  nobler  hound, 

So  died  their  warriors  by  our  battle  brand ; 

And  from  the  tree  we  with  her  child  unbound 

A  lonely  mother  of  the  Christian  land. 

Her  lord — the  captain  of  the  British  band — 

Amidst  the  slaughter  of  his  soldiers  lay. 

Scarce  knew  the  widow  our  delivering  hand ; 

Upon  her  child  she  sobbed  and  swooned  away, 

Or  shrieked  unto  the  God  to  whom  the  Christians  pray. — 

XIX. 

"  Our  virgins  fed  her  with  their  kindly  bowls 

Of  fever-balm,  and  sweet  sagamite  ; 

But  she  was  journeying  to  the  land  of  souls. 

And  lifted  up  her  dying  head  to  pray 

That  we  should  bid  an  ancient  friend  convey 

Her  orphan  to  his  home  of  England's  shore ; 

And  take,  she  said,  this  token  far  away 

*  Manitou,  Spirit  or  Deity 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  53 

To  one  that  will  remember  us  of  yore,  [wore. — 

When  he  beholds  the  ring  that  Waldegrave's  Julia 

XX. 

"  And  L  the  eagle  of  my  tribe,*  have  rushed 

With  this  lorn  dove." — A  sage's  self-command 

Had  quelled  the  tears  from  Albert's  heart  that  gushed ; 

But  yet  his  cheek — his  agitated  hand — 

That  showered  upon  the  stranger  of  the  land 

No  common  boon,  in  giief  but  ill  beguiled 

A  soul  that  was  not  wont  to  be  unmanned ; 

"  And  stay,"  he  cried,  "  dear  pilgrim  of  the  wild ! 

Preserver  of  my  old,  my  boon  companion's  child ! — 

XXI. 

"  Child  of  a  race  whose  name  my  bosom  warms, 

On  earth's  remotest  bounds  how  welcome  here  ! 

Whose  mother  oft,  a  child,  has  fillet!  these  arms 

Young  as  thyself,  and  innocently  dear, 

Whose  grandsire  was  my  early  life's  compeer. 

Ah  happiest  home  of  England's  happy  clime  ! 

How  beautiful  ev'n  now  thy  scenes  appear, 

As  in  the  noon  and  sunshine  of  my  prime  ! 

How  gone  like  yesterday  these  thrice  ten  years  of  time ! 

XXII. 

"  And,  Julia  !  when  thou  wert  like  Gertrude  now, 

Can  I  forget  thee,  fav'rite  child  of  yore  ? 

Or  thought  I,  in  thy  father's  house  when  thou 

Wert  lightest  hearted  on  his  festive  floor 

And  first  of  all  his  hospitable  door, 

To  meet  and  kiss  me  at  my  journey's  end  ? 

But  where  was  I  when  Waldegrave  was  no  more  ? 

*  The  Indians  are  distinguished  both  personally  and  by  tribes  by  the 
name  of  particular  animals,  whose  qualities  thoy  affect  to  resemble 
either  for  cunning,  strength,  swiftness,  or  other, qualities. — As  the 
eagle,  the  serpent,  the  fox,  or  bear. 

E  2 


54  CAMPBELL  S    POEMS. 

And  thou  didst  pale  thy  gentle  head  extend, 

In  woes,  that  ev'n  the  tribe  of  deserts  was  thy  friend !" 

XXIII. 

He  said — and  strained  unto  his  heart  the  boy: 
Far  differently  the  mute  Oneyda  took 
His  calumet  of  peace,*  and  cup  of  joy  ; 
As  monumental  bronze  unchanged  his  look : 
A  soul  that  pity  touched  but  never  shook : 
Trained,  from  his  tree-rocked  cradlef  to  his  bier, 
The  fierce  extremes  of  good  and  ill  to  brook 
Impassive — fearing  but  the  shame  of  fear — 
A  stoic  of  the  woods — a  man  without  a  tear. — 

XXIV 

Yet  deem  not  goodness  on  the  savage  stock 

Of  Outalissi's  hear^  disdained  to  grow ; 

As  lives  the  oak  unwithered  on  the  rock 

By  storms  above,  and  barrenness  below ; 

He  scorned  his  own,  who  felt  another's  wo : 

And  ere  the  wolfskin  on  his  back  he  flung, 

Or  laced  his  mocasins,  in  act  to  go, 

A  song  of  parting  to  the  boy  he  sung,  [tongue. 

Who  slept  on  Albert's  couch,  nor  heard  his  friendly 

XXV. 

"  Sleep  wearied  one !  and  in  the  dreaming  land 
Shouldst  thou  to-morrow  with  thy  mother  meet, 
Oh !  tell  her  spirit,  that  the  white  man's  hand 
Hath  plucked  the  thorns  of  sorrow  from  thy  feet ; 
While  I  in  lonely  wilderness  shall  greet 

*  Calumet  of  Peace.— The  calumet  is  the  Indian  name  for  the  orna- 
mented pipe  of  friendship,  which  they  smoke  as  a  pledge  of  amity. 

t  Tree-rocked  cradle.— -The  Indian  mothers  suspend  their  children 
in  their  cradles  from  the  boughs  of  trees,  and  let  them  be  rocked  by 
Che  wind. 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  55 

Thy  little  foot  prints — or  by  traces  know 

The  fountain,  where  at  noon  I  thought  it  sweet 

To  feed  thee  with  the  quarry  of  my  bow, 

And  poured  the  lotus-horn,*  or  slew  the  mountain  roe. 

XXVI. 

"  Adieu !  sweet  scion  of  the  rising  sun  ! 
But  should  affliction's  storms  thy  blossom  mock, 
Then  come  again — my  own  adopted  one ! 
And  I  will  graft  thee  on  a  noble  stock  : 
The  crocodile,  the  condor  of  the  rock. 
Shall  be  the  pastime  of  thy  sylvan  wars  ; 
And  I  will  teach  thee,  in  the  battle's  shock. 
To  pay  with  Huron  blood  thy  father's  scars. 
And  gratulate  his  soul  rejoicing  in  the  stars  I" 

XXVII. 

So  finished  he  the  rhyme  (howe'er  uncouth) 
That  true  to  nature's  fervid  feelings  ran  ; 
(And  song  is  but  the  eloquence  of  truth :) 
Then  forth  uprose  that  lone  way-faring  man ; 
But  dauntless  he,  nor  chart,  nor  journey's  plan 
In  woods  required,  whose  trained  eye  was  keen 
As  eagle  of  the  wilderness,  to  scan 
His  path,  by  mountain,  swamp,  or  deep  ravine, 
Or  ken  far  friendly  huts  on  good  savannas  green. 

XXVIII. 

Old  Albert  saw  him  from  the  valley's  side — 
His  pirogue  launched — his  pilgrimage  begun — 
Far,  like  the  red-bird's  wing  he  seemed  to  glide — 
Then  dived,  and  vanished  in  the  woodlands  dun. 

*  From  a  flower  shaped  like  a  horn,  which  Chateaubriand  pre 
sumes  to  be  of  the  lotus  kind,  the  Indians  in  their  travels  through  the 
desert  often  find  a  draught  of  dew  purer  than  any  other  water. 


56  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

Oft,  to  that  spot  by  tenaer  memory  won, 

Would  Albert  climb  the  promontory's  height, 

If  but  a  dim  sail  glimmered  in  the  sun  ; 

But  never  more  to  bless  his  longing  sight, 

Was  Outalissi  hailed,  with  barlr  and  plumage  bright. 


END    OF   PART  FIRST. 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 

PART  II. 

I. 

A  VALLEY  from  the  river  shore  withdrawn 

Was  Albert's  home,  two  quiet  woods  between. 

Whose  lofty  verdure  overlooked  his  lawn  ; 

And  waters  to  their  resting  place  serene 

Came  fresh'ning,  and  reflecting  all  the  scene  : 

(A  mirror  in  the  depth  of  flowery  shelves  ;) 

So  sweet  a  spot  of  earth,  you  might,  I  ween, 

Have  guessed  some  congregation  of  the  elves    [selves. 

To  sport  by  summer  moons,  had  shaped  it  for  them- 

II. 

Yet  wanted  not  the  eye  far  scope  to  muse, 
Nor  vistas  opened  by  the  wand'ring  stream ; 
Both  where  at  evening  Allegany  views, 
Through  ridges  burning  in  her  western  beam. 
Lake  after  lake  interminably  gleam  : 
And  past  those  settlers'  haunts  the  eye  might  roam, 
Where  earth's  unliving  silence  all  would  seem ; 
Save  where  on  rocks  the  beaver  built  his  dome, 
Or  buffalo  remote  lowed  far  from  human  home. 

III. 

But  silent  not  that  adverse  eastern  path, 
Which  saw  Aurora's  hill  thj  horizon  crown  ; 
There  was  the  river  heard,  in  bed  of  wrath, 
(A  precipice  of  foam  from  mountains  brown.) 
Like'  tumults  heard  from  some  far  distant  town ; 
But  soft'ning  in  approach  he  left  his  gloom, 
And  murmured  pleasantly,  and  laid  him  down 


58  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

To  kiss  those  easy  curving  banks  of  bloom, 
That  lent  the  windward  air  an  exquisite  perfume. 

IV. 

It  seemed  as  if  those  scenes  sweet  influence  had 

On  Gertrude's  soul,  and  kindness  like  their  own 

Inspired  those  eyes  affectionate  and  glad. 

That  seemed  to  love  whate'er  they  looked  upon  ; 

Whether  with  Hebe's  mirth  her  features  shone, 

Or  if  a  shade  more  pleasing  them  o'ercast, 

(As  if  for  heavenly  musing  meant  alone  ;) 

Yet  so  becomingly  th3  expression  past, 

That  each  succeeding  look  was  lovelier  than  the  last. 

V. 

Nor  guess  I,  was  that  Pennsylvanian  home, 

With  all  its  picturesque  and  balmy  grace, 

And  fields  that  were  a  luxury  to  roam, 

Lost  on  the  soul  that  looked  from  such  a  face  ! 

Enthusiast  of  the  woods  !  when  years  apace 

Had  bound  thy  lovely  waist  with  woman's  zone, 

The  sunrise  path,  at  morn,  I  see  thee  trace 

To  hills  with  high  magnolia  overgrown, 

And  joy  to  breathe  the  groves,  romantic  and  alone. 

VI. 

The  sunrise  drew  her  thoughts  to  Europe  forth. 

That  thus  apostrophized  its  viewless  scene : 

"  Land  of  my  father's  love,  my  mother's  birth ! 

The  home  of  kindred  I  have  never  seen  ! 

We  know  not  other — oceans  are  between  ; 

Yet  say !  far  friendly  hearts  from  whence  we  came, 

Of  us  does  oft  remembrance  intervene  ! 

My  mother  sure — my  sire  a  thought  may  claim ; — 

But  Gertrude  is  to  you  an  unregarded  name, 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS,  59 

VII. 

"  And  yet,  loved  England  !  when  thy  name  I  trace 

In  many  a  pilgrim's  tale  and  poet's  song, 

How  can  I  choose  but  wish  for  one  embrace 

Of  them,  the  dear  unknown,  to  whom  belong 

My  mother's  looks, — perhaps  her  likeness  strong  ? 

Oh  parent !  with  what  reverential  awe, 

From  features  of  thine  own  related  throng, 

An  image  of  thy  face  my  soul  could  draw  t 

And  see  thee  once  again  whom  I  too  shortly  saw  I" 

VIII. 

Yet  deem  not  Gertrude  sighed  for  foreign  joy ; 
To  soothe  a  father's  couch  her  only  care, 
Ami  keep  his  rev'rend  head  from  all  annoy : 
For  this,  methinks,  her  homeward  steps  repair, 
Soon  as  the  morning  wreath  had  bound  her  hair ; 
While  yet  the  wild  deer  trod  in  spangling  dew, 
While  boatmen  carolled  to  the  fresh-blown  air, 
And  woods  a  horizontal  shadow  threw, 
And  early  fox  appeared  in  momentary  view. 

IX. 

Apart  there  was  a  deep  untrodden  grot, 

Where  oft  the  reading  hour  sweet  Gertrude  wore ; 

Tradition  had  not  named  its  lonely  spot ; 

But  here,  methinks,  might  Indians'  sons  explore 

Their  fathers'  dust,*  or  lift,  perchance,  of  yore, 

Their  voice  to  the  great  Spirit : — rocks  sublime 

To  human  art  a  sportive  semblance  bore, 

And  yellow  lichens  coloured  all  the  clime,  [time. 

Like  moonlight  battlements,  and  towers  decayed   by 

*  It  is  a  custom  of  the  Indian  tribes  to  viiit  the  tombs  of  their  an- 
cestors in  the  cultivated  parts  of  America,  who  have  been  buried  for 
upwards  of  a  century. 


60  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

X. 

But  high  in  amphitheatre  above, 
His  arms  the  everlasting  aloes  threw : 
Breathed  but  an  air  of  heaven,  and  all  the  grove 
As  if  with  instinct  living  spirit  grew. 
Rolling  its  verdant  gulfs  of  every  hue  ; 
And  now  suspended  was  the  pleasing  din, 
Now  from  a  murmur  faint  it  swelled  anew. 
Like  the  first  note  of  organ  heard  within 
Cathedral  aisles, — ere  yet  its  symphony  begin. 

XL 

It  was  in  this  lone  valley  she  would  charm 

The  ling'ring  noon,  where  flow'rs  a  couch  had  strowji ; 

Her  cheek  reclining,  and  her  snowy  arm 

On  hillock  by  the  palm-tree  half  o'ergrown  ; 

And  aye  that  volume  on  her  lap  is  thrown, 

Which  every  heart  of  human  mould  endears ; 

With  Shakspeare's  self  she  spe'aks  and  smiles  alone. 

And  no  intruding  visitation  fears,  [tears. 

To  shame  th'  unconscious  laugh,  or  stop  her  sweetest 

XII. 

And  nought  within  the  grove  was  heard  or  seea 
But  stockdoves  plaining  through  its  gloom  profound, 
Or  winglet  of  the  fairy  humming  bird, 
Like  atoms  of  the  rainbow  fluttering  round ; 
When  lo  !  there  entered  to  its  inmost  ground 
A  youth,  the  stranger  of  a  distant  land ; 
He  was,  to  weet,  for  eastern  mountains  bound ; 
But  late  th'  equator  suns  his  cheek  had  tanned, 
And  California's  gales  his  roving  bosom  fanned. 

XIII. 

A  steed,  whose  rein  hung  loosely  o'er  his  arm, 
He  led  dismounted ;  ere  his  leisure  pace. 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  61 

Amid  the  brown  leaves,  could  her  ear  alarm, 
Close  he  had  come,  and  worshipped  for  a  space 
Those  downcast  features  : — she  her  lovely  face 
Uplift  on  one  whose  lineaments  and  frame 
Were  youth  and  manhood's  intermingled  grace  : 
Iberian  seemed  his  boot — his  robe  the  same, 
And  well  the  Spanish  plume  his  lofty  looks  became. 

XIV. 

For  Albert's  home  he  sought — her  finger  fair 

Has  pointed  where  the  father's  mansion  stood. 

Returning  from  the  copse  he  soon  was  there  : 

And  soon  has  Gertrude  hied  from  dark  green  wood  ; 

Nor  joyless,  by  the  converse  understood, 

Between  the  man  of  age  and  pilgrim  young, 

That  gay  congeniality  of  mood. 

And  early  liking  from  acquaintance  sprung : 

Full  fluently  conversed  their  guest  in  England's  tongue. 

XV. 

And  well  could  he  his  pilgrimage  of  taste 
Unfold, — and  much  they  loved  his  fervid  strain, 
While  he  each  fair  variety  retrac'd 
Of  climes,  and  manners,  o'er,  the  eastern  main : 
Now  happy  Switzer's  hills, — romantic  Spain, — 
Gay  lilied  fields  of  France, — or,  more  refined, 
The  soft  Ausonia's  monumental  reig'n  ; 
Nor  less  each  rural  image  he  designed, 
Than  all  the  city's  pomp  and  home  of  human  kind. 

XVI. 

Anon  some  wilder  portraiiure  he  draws ; 
Of  Nature's  savage  glories  he  would  speak, — 
The  loneliness  of  earth  that  overawes, — 
Where,  resting  by  some  tomb  of  old  cacique, 
The  lama  driver  on  Peruvia's  peak, 
Nor  living  voice  nor  motion  marks  around ; 
F 


62  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.. 

But  storks  that  to  the  boundless  forest  shriek, 

Or  wild-cane  arch  high  flung  o'er  gulf  profound,*     * 

That  fluctuates  when  the  storms  of  El  Dorado  sound. — 

XVII. 

Pleased  with  his  guest,  the  good  man  still  would  ply 
Each  earnest  question,  and  his  converse  court ; 
But  Gertrude,  as  she  eyed  him,  knew  not  why 
A  strange  and  troubling  wonder  stopt  her  short. 

In  England  thou  hast  been, — and,  by  report, 
An  orphan's  name  (quoth  Albert)  may'st  have  known : 
Sad  tale  ! — when  latest  fell  our  frontier  fort, — 
One  innocent — one  soldier's  child — alone  [own, 

Was  spared,  and  brought  to  me,  who  loved  him  as  my 

XVIII. 

''  Young  Henry  Waldegrave  !  three  delightful  years 
These  very  walls  his  infant  sports  did  see  ; 
But  most  I  loved  him  when  his  parting  tears 
Alternately  bedewed  my  child  and  me  : 
His  sorest  parting,  Gertrude,  was  from  thee ; 
Nor  half  its  grief  his  little  heart  could  hold : 
By  kindred  he  was  sent  fcr  o'er  the  sea, 
They  tore  him  from  us  when  but  j^welve  years  old, 
And  scarcely  for  his  loss  have  I  been  yet  consoled." — 

XIX. 

His  face  the  wand'rer  hid, — but  could  not  hide 

A  tear,  a  smile,  upon  his  cheek  that  dwell ; — 

fi  And  speak,  mysterious  stranger  !"  (Gertrude  cried) 

«  ft  is  t — it  is ! — I  knew — I  knew  him  well ! 

5Tis  Waldegrave's  self  of  Waldegrave  come  to  tell ! 

*  The  bridges  over  narrow  streams  in  many  parts  of  Spanish  Ame- 
rica are  said  to  be  built  of  cane,  which  however  strong  to  support  the 
passengers,  are  yet  waved  in  the  agitation  of  the  storm,  and  frequently 
add  to  the  effect  of  a  mountainous  and  picturesque  scenery. 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  ti3 

A  burst  of  joy  the  father's  lips  declare  ; 

But  Gertrude  speechless  on  his  bosom  fell : 

At  once  his  open  arms  embraced  the  pair, 

Was  never  group  more  blest,  in  this  wide  world  of  care. 

XX. 

"  And  will  ye  pardon  then  (replied  the  youth) 
Your  Waldegrave's  feigned  name,  and  false  attire  ? 
I  durst  not  in  the  neighbourhood,  in  truth, 
The  very  fortunes  of  your  house  inquire ; 
Lest  one  that  knew  me  might  some  tidings  dire 
Impart,  and  I  my  weakness  all  betray ; 
For  had  I  lost  my  Gertrude,  and  my  sire, 
I  meant  but  o'er  your  tombs  to  weep  a  day, 
Unknown  I  meant  to  weep,  unknown  to  pass  away. 

XXI. 

•  "  But  here  ye  live, — ye  bloom, — in  each  dear  face 
The  changing  hand  of  time  I  may  not  blame  ; 
For  there,  it  hath  but  shed  more  reverend  grace, 
And  here,  of  beauty  perfected  the  frame  ; 
And  well  I  know  your  hearts  are  still  the  same, 
They  could  not  change — ye  look  the  very  way, 
As  when  an  orphan  first  to  you  I  came. 
And  have  ye  heard  of  my  poor  guide,  I  pray  ? 
Nay,  wherefore  weep  we,  friends,  on  such  a  joyous  day?" 

XXII. 

"  And  art  thou  here  ?  or  is  it  but  a  dream  ? 

And  wilt  thou,Waldegrave,  wilt  thou  leave  us  more  ?" — 

"  No,  never !  thou  that  yet  dost  lovelier  seem 

Than  aught  on  earth — than  ev'n  thyself  of  yore — 

I  will  not  part  thee  from  thy  father's  shore ; 

But  we  shall  cherish  him  with  mutual  arms, 

And  hand  in  hand  again  the  path  explore, 


64  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

Which  every  ray  of  young  remembrance  warms. 
While  thou  shalt  be  my  own  with  all  thy  truth  and 
charms." 

XXIH. 

At  morn,  as  if  beneath  a  galaxy 
Of  over-arching  groves  in  blossoms  white, 
Where  all  was  od'rous  scent  and  harmony, 
And  gladness  to  the  heart,  nerve,  ear,  and  sight : 
There  if,  oh  gentle  love  !  I  read  aright, 
The  utterance  that  sealed  thy  sacred  bond, 
'Twas  list'ning  to  these  accents  of  delight, 
She  hid  upon  his  breast  those  eyes,  beyond 
Expression's  power  to  paint,  all  languishingly  fond. 

XXIV. 

"  Flower  of  my  life,  so  lovely,  and  so  lone  ! 
Whom  I  would  rather  in  this  desert  meet, 
Scorning,  and  scorned  by  fortune's  power,  than  own 
Her  pomp  and  splendours  lavished  at  my  feet ! 
Turn  not  from  me  thy  breath,  more  exquisite 
Than  odours  cast  on  heaven's  own  shrine — to  please — 
Give  me  thy  love,  than  luxury  more  sweet, 
And  more  than  all  the  wealth  that  loads  the  breeze. 
When  Coromandel's  ships  return  from  Indian  seas." 

XXV. 

Then  would  that  home  admit  them — happier  far 

Than  grandeur's  most  magnificent  saloon, 

While  here  and  there,  a  solitary  star 

Flushed  in  the  dark'ning  firmament  of  June  ; 

And  silence  brought  the  soul-felt  hour,  full  soon, 

Ineffable,  which  I  may  not  portray ; 

For  never  did  the  Hymenean  moon 

A  paradise  of  hearts  more  sacred  sway, 

Jn  all  that  slept  beneath  her  Soft  voluptuous  ray. 

END   OP  PART   SECOND. 


GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 


PART  III. 

I 

O  LOVE  !  in  such  a  wilderness  as  this, 

AVhere  transport  and  security  entwine, 

Here  is  the  empire  of  thy  perfect  bliss, 

And  here  thou  art  a  god  indeed  divine. 

Here  shall  no  forms  abridge,  no  hours  confine 

The  views,  the  walks,  that  boundless  joy  inspire  ! 

Roll  on,  ye  days  of  raptured  influence,  shine ! 

Nor  blind  with  ecstasy's  celestial  fire, 

Shall  love  behold  the  spark  of  earth-born  time  expire. 

JI. 

Three  little  moons,  how  short,  amidst  the  grove, 

And  pastoral  savannas  they  consume  ! 

While  she,  beside  her  buskined  youth  to  rove, 

Delights,  in  fancifully  wild  costume, 

Her  lovely  brow  to  shade  with  Indian  plume ; 

And  forth  in  hunter-seeming  vest  they  fare ; 

But  not  to  chase  the  deer  in  forest  gloom  ; 

'Tis  but  the  breath  of  heaven — the  blessed  air — 

And  interchange  of  hearts  unknown,  unseen  to  share. 

III. 

What  though  the  sportive  dog  oft  round  them  note, 
Or  fawn  or  wild  bird  bursting  on  the  wing- ; 
Yet  who,  in  love's  own  presence,  would  devote 
To  death  those  gentle  throats  that  wake  the  spring  ; 
F  2 


66 

Or  writhing  from  the  brook  its  victim  bring  ? 
No  ! — nor  let  fear  one  little  warbler  rouse  ; 
But,  fed  by  Gertrude's  hand,  still  let  them  sing, 
Acquaintance  of  her  path,  amidst  the  boughs,     [vows. 
That  shade  e'en  now  her  love,  and  witnessed  first  her 

IV. 

Now  labyrinths,  which  but  themselves  can  pierce, 
Methinks,  conduct  them  to  some  pleasant  ground, 
Where  welcome  hills  shut  out  the  universe, 
And  pines  their  lawny  walk  encompass  round ; 
There,  if  a  pause  delicious  converse  found, 
'Twas  but  when  o'er  each  heart  th'  idea  stole, 
(Perchance  awhile  in  joy's  oblivion  drowned) 
That  come  what  may,  while  life's  glad  pulses  roll, 
Indissolubly  thus  should  soul  be  knit  to  soul. 

V. 

And  in  the  visions  of  romantic  youth, 

What  years  of  endless  bliss  are  yet  to  flow ! 

But  mortal  pleasure,  what  art  thou  in  truth  ! 

The  torrent's  smoothness,  ere  it  dash  below  ! 

And  must  I  change  my  song  ?  and  must  I  show, 

Sweet  Wyoming  !  the  day,  when  thou  wert  doomed, 

Guiltless,  to  mourn  thy  loveliest  bow'rs  laid  low  ! 

When  where  of  yesterday  a  garden  bloomed. 

Death  overspread  his  pall,  and  black'ning  ashes  gloomed 

VI. 

Sad  was  the  year,  by  proud  oppression  driven, 

When  transatlantic  Liberty  arose, 

Not  in  the  sunshine,  and  the  smile  of  heaven, 

But  wrapt  in  wirlwinds  and  begirt  with  woes  : 

Amidst  the  strife  of  fratricidal  foes. 

Her  birth  star  was  the  light  of  burning  plains  ;* 

*  Alluding  to  the  miseries  that  attended  the  American  civil  war. 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  67 

Her  baptism  is  the  weight  of  blood  that  flows 
From  kindred  hearts — the  blood  of  British  veins — 
And  famine  tracks  her  steps,  and  pestilential  pains. 

VII. 

Yet,  ere  the  storm  of  death  had  raged  remote, 
Or  siege  unseen,  in  heav'n  reflects  its  beams, 
Who  now  each  dreadful  circumstance  shall  note, 
That  fills  pale  Gertrude's  thoughts,  and  nightly  dreams: 
Dismal  to  her  the  forge  of  battle  gleams 
Portentous  light !  and  Music's  voice  is  dumb ; 
Save  where  the  fife  its  shrill  reveille  screams, 
Or  midnight  streets  re-echo  to  the  drum,         [to  come. 
That  speaks  of  madd'ning  strife,  and  blood-stained  fields 

VIII. 

It  was  in  truth  a  momentary  pang  ; 

Yet  how  comprising  myriad  shapes  of  wo  ! 

First  when  in  Gertrude's  ear  the  summons  rang, 

A  husband  to  the  battle  doomed  to  go  ! 

"  Nay,  meet  not  thou,"  (she  cries,)  "  thy  kindred  foe  ! 

But  peaceful  let  us  seek  fair  England's  strand  !"- 

"  Ah,  Gertrude  !  thy  beloved  heart,  I  know 

Would  feel  like  mine,  the  stigmatizing  brand, 

Could  I  forsake  the  cause  of  freedom's  holy  band ! 

IX. 

"  But  shame — but  flight — a  recreant's  name  to  prove, 

To  hide  in  exile  ignominious  fears  ; 

Say,  e'en  if  this  I  brooked,  the  public  love 

Thy  father's  bosom  to  his  home  endears : 

And  how  could  I  his  few  remaining  years, 

My  Gertrude,  sever  from  so  dear  a  child  ?" 

So,  day  by  day,  her  boding  heart  he  cheers  ; 

At  last  that  heart  to  hope  is  half  beguiled,        [smiled. 

And  pale  through  tears  suppressed  the  mournful  beauty 


68 

X. 

Night  came, — and  in  their  lighted  bow'r,  full  late, 

The  joy  of  converse  had  endured — when  hark ! 

Abrupt  and  loud,  a  summons  shook  their  gate  ; 

And  heedless  of  the  dog's  obstrep'rous  bark, 

A  form  has  rushed  amidst  them  from  the  dark, 

And  spread  his  arms, — and  fell  upon  the  floor  : 

Of  aged  strength  his  limbs  retain  the  mark ; 

But  desolate  he  looked,  and  famished  poor, 

As  ever  shipwrecked  wretch  lone  left  on  desert  shore. 

XI. 

Upris'n  each  wond'ring  brow  is  knit  and  arched : 
A  spirit  from  the  dead  they  deem  him  first : 
To  speak  he  tries  ;  but  quivering,  pale,  and  parched 
From  lips,  as  by  some  pow'rless  dream  accursed, 
Emotions  unintelligible  burst  ; 
And  long  his  filmed  eye  is  red  and  dim ; 
At  length  the  pity-profferred  cup  his  thirst 
Had  half  assuaged,  and  nerved  his  shuddering  limb, 
When  Albert's  hand  he  grasped  ; — but  Albert  knew  not 
him. 

XII. 

"  And  hast  thou  then  forgot,53  (he  cried  forlorn, 
And  eyed  the  group  with  half  indignant  air) 
"  Oh  !  hast  thou,  Christian  chief,  forgot  the  morn 
When  I  with  thee  the  cup  of  peace  did  share  ? 
Then  stately  was  this  head,  and  dark  this  hair, 
That  now  is  white  as  Appalachia's  snow ; 
But,  if  the  weight  of  fifteen  years'  despair, 
And  age  hath  bowed  me,  and  the  tort'ring  foe, 
Bring  me  my  boy — and  he  will  his  deliverer  know  !" 

XIII. 

It  was  not  long,  with  eyes  and  heart  of  flame, 
Ere  Henry  to  his  loved  Oneida  flew  ; 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  69 

"  Bless  thee,  my  guide  !" — but,  backward  as  he  came, 

The  chief  his  old  bewildered  head  withdrew,  [through. 

And    grasped   his    arm,  and  looked   and  looked  him 

'Twas  strange — nor  could  the  group  a  smile  control — 

The  long,  the  doubtful  scrutiny  to  view : — 

At  last  delight  o'er  all  his  features  stole, 

"  It  is — my  own,"  he  cried.,  and  clasped  him  to  his  soul. 

XIV. 

"  Y«s  thou  recall'st  my  pride  of  years,  for  then 

The  bowstring  of  my  spirit  was  not  slack, 

When,  spite  of  woods,  and  floods,  and  ambushed  men, 

I  bore  thee  like  the  quiver  on  my  back, 

Fleet  as  the  whirlwind  hurries  on  the  rack ; 

Nor  foemen  then,  nor  congar's  couch  I  feared.,* 

For  I  was  strong  as  mountain  cataract : 

And  dost  thou  not  remember  how  we  cheered, 

Upon  the  last  hill  top,  when  white  men's  huts  appeared? 

XV. 

"  Then  welcome  be  my  death  song,  and  my  death ! 
Since  I  have  seen  thee,  and  again  embraced." 
And  longer  had  he  spent  his  toil  worn  breath  ! 
But,  with  affectionate  and  eager  haste, 
Was  every  arm  outstretched  around  their  guest, 
To  welcome,  and  to  bless  his  aged  head. 
Soon  was  the  hospitable  banquet  placed ; 
And  Gertrude's  lovely  hand  a  balsam  shed 
On  wounds  with  fevered  joy  that  more  profusely  bled. 

XVI. 

"  But  this  is  not  a  time," — he  started  up, 

And  smote  his  breast  with  wo  denouncing  hand — 

*  Oongar,  the  American  Tiger. 


70 

"  This  is  no  time  to  fill  the  joyous  cup, 

The  Mammoth  comes, — the  foe, — the  Monster  Brandt,* 

With  all  his  howling  desolating  band ; — 

These  eyes  have  seen  their  blade,  and  burning  pine 

Awake  at  once,  and  silence  half  your  land. 

Red  is  the  cup  they  drink  ;  but  not  with  wine : 

Awake,  and  watch  to-night !  or  see  no  morning  shine. 

XVII. 

"  Scorning  to  wield  the  hatchet  for  his  bribe, 

'Gainst  Brandt  himself  I  went  to  battle  forth  : 

Accursed  Brandt !  he  left  of  all  my  tribe 

Nor  man,  nor  child,  nor  thing  of  living  birth  : 

No  !  not  the  dog,  that  watched  my  household  hearth, 

Escaped,  that  night  of  blood,  upon  our  plains  1 

All  perished ! — I  alone  am  left  on  earth  ! 

To  whom  nor  relative  nor  blood  remains, 

No ! — not  a  kindred  drop  that  runs  in  human  veins' 

XVIII. 

"  But  go  and  rouse  your  warriors  ; — for,  if  right 

These  old  bewildered  eyes  could  guess,  by  signs 

Of  striped  and  starred  banners,  on  yon  height 

Of  eastern  cedars,  o'er  the  creek  of  pines — 

Some  fort  embattled  by  your  country  shines  : 

Deep  roars  th'  innavigable  gulf  below 

Its  squared  rock,  and  palisaded  lines. 

Go !  seek  the  light  its  warlike  beacons  show ; 

Whilst  I  in  ambush  wait,  for  vengeance,  and  the  foe  !" 

XIX. 

Scarce  had  he  uttered, — when  heav'n's  verge  extreme 
Reverberates  the  bomb's  descending  star 

*  Brandt  was  the  leader  of  those  Mohawks,  and  other  savages,  who 
laid  waste  this  part  of  Pennsylvania.— Vide  the  note  at  the  end  of  the 
volume. 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  71 

And    sounds,   that  mingled  laugh, — and  shout, — and 
To  freeze  the  blood,  in  one  discordant  jar,       [scream, 
Rung  to  the  pealing  thunderbolts  of  war. 
Whoop  after  whoop  with  rack  the  ear  assailed ; 
As  if  unearthly  fiends  had  burst  their  bar ; 
While  rapidly  the  marksman's  shot  prevailed ; — 
And  aye,  as  if  for  death,  some  lonely  trumpet  wailed. — 

XX. 

Then  looked  they  to  the  hills,  where  fire  o'erhung 
The  bandit  groups,  in  one  Vesuvian  glare  ; 
Or  swept,  far  seen,  the  tow'r,  whose  clock  unrung, 
Told  legible  that  midnight  of  despair. 
She  faints, — she  falters  not, — th'  heroic  fair, 
As  he  the  sword  and  plume  in  haste  arrayed. 
One  short  embrace — he  clasped  his  dearest  care — 
But  hark !     what  nearer  war-drum  shakes  the  glade  ? 
Joy,  joy !  Columbia's  friends  are  trampling  through  the 
shade ! 

XXI. 

Then  came  of  every  race  the  mingled  swarm, 
Far  rung  the  groves,  and  gleamed  the  midnight  grass 
With  flambeau,  javelin,  and  naked  arm*; 
As  warriors  wheeled  their  culverins  of  brass. 
Sprung  from  the  woods,  a  bold  athletic  mass, 
Whom  virtue  fires,  and  liberty  combines  : 
And  first  the  wild  Moravian  Yagers  pass, 
His  plumed  host  the  dark  Iberian  joins — 
And  Scotia's  sword  beneath  the  Highland  thistle  shines. 

XXII. 

And  in,  the  buskined  hunters  of  the  deer, 

To  Albert's  home,  with  shout  and  cymbal  throng  :— 

Roused  by  their  warlike  pomp,  and  mirth,  and  cheer ; 

Old  Outalissi  woke  his  battle  song, 

And,  beating  with  his  war-club  cadence  strong, 


72 

Tells  .how  his  deep  stung  indignation  smarts, 
Of  them  that  wrapt  his  house  in  flames,  ere  long, 
To  whet  a  dagger  on  their  stony  hearts, 
And  smile  avenged  ere  yet  his  eagle  spirit  parts. — 

XXIII. 

Calm  opposite  the  Christian  father  rose, 

Pale  on  his  venerable  hrow  its  rays 

Of  martyr  light  the  conflagration  throws ; 

One  hand  upton  his  lovely  child  he  lays, 

And  one  th'  uncovered  crowd  to  silence  sways ; 

While,  though  the  battle  flash  is  faster  driv'n, — 

Unawed,  with  eye  unstartled  by  the  blaze, 

He  for  his  bleeding  country  prays  to  Heav'n, — 

Prays  that  the-men  of  blood  themselves  may  be  forgiven. 

XXIV. 

Short  time  is  now  for  gratulating  speech ; 

And  yet  beloved  Gertrude,  ere  began 

Thy  country's  flight,  yon  distant  towr'rs  to  reach, 

Looked  not  on  thee  the  rudest  partisan 

With  brow  relaxed  to  love  !    And  murmurs  ran 

As  round  and  round  their  willing  ranks  they  drew, 

From  beauty's  sight  to  shield  the  hostile  van. 

Grateful,  on  them  a  placid  look  she  threw, 

Nor  wept,  but  as  she  bade  her  mother's  grave  ad\eu  * 

XXV. 

Past  was  the  flight,  and  welcome  seemed  the  tow  V, 

That  like  a  giant  standard-bearer,  frowned 

Defiance  on  the  roving  Indian  pow'r. 

Beneath,  each  bold  and  promontory  mound 

With  embrasure  embossed,  and  armour  crowned, 

And  arrowy  frize,  and  wedged  ravelin, 

Wove  like  a  diadem  its  tracery  round 

The  lofty  summit  of  that  mountain  green ; 

Here  stood  secure  the  group,  and  eyed  a  distant  scene. 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  73 

XXVI. 

A  scene  of  death !  where  fires  beneath  the  sun, 
And  blended  arms,  and  white  pavilions  glow  ; 
And  for  the  business  of  destruction  done, 
Its  requiem  the  war-horn  seemed  to  blow. 
There  sad  spectatress  of  her  country's  wo  ! 
The  lovely  Gertrude,  safe  from  present  harm, 
Had  laid  her  cheek,  and  clasped  her  hands  of  snow 
On  Waldegrave's  shoulder,  half  within  his  arm 
Enclosed,  that  felt  her  heart,  and  hushed  its  wild  alarm  t 

XXVII. 

But  short  that  contemplation— sad  and  short 
The  pause  that  bid  each  much-loved  scene  adieu  ! 
Beneath  the  very  shadow  of  the  fort, 
Where  friendly  swords  were  drawn,  and  banners  flew  ; 
Ah  I  who  could  deem  that  foot  of  Indian  crew 
Was  near? — yet  there,  with  lust  of  murd'rous  deeds 
Gleamed  like  a  basilisk,  from  woods  in  view, 
The  ambushed  foeman's  eye — his  volley  speeds, 
And  Albert— Albert— falls  !  the  dear  old  father  bleeds  . 

XXVIII. 

And  tranced  in  giddy  horror  Gertrude  swooned  ; 
Yet,  while  she  clasps  him  lifeless  to  her  zone, 
Say,  burst  they,  borrowed  from  her  father's  wounds, 
These  drops  ? — Oh  God  !  the  life-blood  is  her  own ; 
And  falt'ring,  on  her  Waldegrave's  bosom  thrown 
"  Weep  not,  O  Love !" — she  cries,  "  to  see  me  bleed 
Thee,  Gertrude's  sad  survivor,  thee  alone 
Heaven's  peace  commiserate ;  for  scarce  I  hefed    [deed. 
These  wounds ; — Yet  thee  to  leave  is  death,  is  death  ID- 

XXIX. 

"  Clasp  me  a  little  longer,  on  the  brink 
Of  fate  !  while  I  can  feel  thy  dear  caress ; 


74  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

And  when  this  heart  hath  ceased  to  beat — oh  !  thick,. 

And  let  it  mitigate  thy  wo's  excess, 

That  thou  hast  been  to  me  all  tenderness, 

And  friend  to  more  than  human  friendship  just. 

Oh  !  by  that  retrospect  of  happiness, 

And  by  the  hopes  of  an  immortal  trust, 

God  shall  assuage  thy  pangs — when  I  am  laid  in  dust  I 

XXX. 

"  Go,  Henry,  go  not  back,  when  I  depart, 

The  scene  thy  bursting  tears  too  deep  will  move, 

Where  my  dear  father  took  thee  to  his  heart, 

And  Gertrude  thought  it  ecstasy  to  rove 

With  thee,  as  with  an  angel,  through  the  grove 

Of  peace, — imagining  her  lot  was^cast 

In  heaven  ;  for  ours  was  not  like  earthly  love. 

And  must  this  parting  be  our  very  last  ? 

No !  I  shall  love  thee  still,  when  death  itself  is  past. 

XXXI. 

"  Half  could  I  bear,  methinks,  to  leave  this  earth, — 

And  thee,  more  loved  than  aught  beneath  the  sun, 

If  I  had  lived  to  smile  but  on  the  birth 

Of  one  dear  pledge ; — but  shall  there  then  be  none, 

In  future  times — no  gentle  little  one, 

To  clasp  thy  neck,  and  look,  resembling  me  ! 

Yet  seems  it,  ev'n  while  life's  last  pulses  run, 

A  sweetness  in  the  cup  of  death  to  be, 

Lord  of  my  bosom's  love  !  to  die  beholding  thee  !}T 

XXXH. 

Hushed  were  his  Gertrude's  lips  !  but  still  their  bland 

And  beautiful  expression  seemed  to  melt 

With  love  that  could  not  die !  and  still  his  hand 

She  presses  to  the  heart  no  more  that  felt. 

Ah  heart !  where  once  each  fond  affection  dwelt, 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  75 

And  features  yet  that  spoke  a  soul  more  fair. 
Mute,  gazing,  agonizing  as  he  knelt, 
Of  them  that  stood  encircling  his  despair,  [were. 

He  heard  some  friendly  words ;  but  knew  not  what  they 

XXXIII. 

For  now,  to  mourn  their  judge  and  child,  arrives 
A  faithful  band.    With  solemn  rites  between, 
'Twas  sung,  how  they  were  lovely  in  their  lives, 
And  in  their  deaths  had  not  divided  been. 
Touched  by  the  music,  and  the  melting  scene, 
Was  scarce  one  tearless  eye  amidst  the  crowd: 
Stern  warriors,  resting  on  their  swords,  were  seen 
To  veil  tlieir  eyes,  as  passed  each  much-loved  shroud 
While  woman's  softer  soul  in  wp  dissolved  aloud. 

XXXIV. 

Then  mournfully  the  parting  bugle  bid 
Its  farewell  o'er  the  grave  of  worth  and  truth ; 
Prone  to  the  dust,  afflicted  Waldegrave  hid 
His  face  on  earth ;  him  watched  in  gloomy  ruth, 
His  woodland  guide  :  but  words  had  none  to  soothe 
The  grief  that  knew  not  consolation's  name : 
Casting  his  Indian  mantle  o'er  the  youth, 
He  watched  beneath  its  folds,  each  burst  that  came 
Convulsive^  ague-like,  across  his  shuddering  frame  * 
XXXV. 

"  And  I  could  weep  ;"  th'  Oneida  chief 

His  descant  wildly  thus  begun ; 

"  But  that  I  may  not  stain  with  grief 

The  death-song  of  my  father's  son  ! 

Or  bow  this  head  in  wo  ; 

For  by  my  wrongs,  and  by  my  wrath  ! 

To-morrow,  Areouski's  breath, 

(That  fires  yon  heaven  with  storms  of  death,) 

Shall  light  us  to  the  foe : 


76  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

And  we  shall  share,  my  Christian  boy ! 
The  foeman's  blood,  the  avenger's  joy  I 

XXXVI. 

But  thee,  my  flower  whose  breath  was  given 

By  milder  genii  o'er  the  deep, 

The  spirits  of  the  white  man's  heaven 

Forbid  not  thee  to  weep : 

Nor  will  the  Christian  host. 

Nor  will  thy  father's  spirit  grieve 

To  see  thee,  on  the  battle's  eve, 

Lamenting  take  a  mournful  leave 

Of  her  who  loved  thee  most : 

She  was  the  rainbow  to  thy  sight ! 

Thy  sun — thy  heaven — of  lost  delight ! 

XXXVII. 

To-morrow  let  us  do  or  die  ! 

But  when  the  bolt  of  death  is  hurled, 

Ah !  whither  then  with  thee  to  fly, 

Shall  Outalissi  roam  the  world  ? 

Seek  we  thy  once-loved  home  ? 

The  Land  is  gone  that  cropt  its  flowers : 

Unheard  their  clock  repeats  its  hours  ! 

Cold  is  the  hearth  within  their  bow'rs ! 

And  should  we  thither  roam 

Its  echoes,  a.^d  its  empty  tread, 

Would  sound  like  voices  from  the  dead ! 

XXXVIII. 

"  Or  shall  we  cross  yon  mountains  blue, 
Whose  streams  my  kindred  nation  quaffed  ; 
And  by  my  side,  in  battle  true, 
A  thousand  warriors  drew  the  shaft  I 
Ah !  there  in  desolation  cold. 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  77 

The  desert  serpent  dwells  alone, 

Where  grass  o'ergrows  each  mould'ring  bone, 

And  stones  themselves  to  ruin  grown. 

Like  me,  are  death-like  old. 

Then  seek  we  not  their  camp — for  there — 

The  silence  dwells  of  my  despair ! 

XXXIX. 

"  But  hark,  the  trump  ! — to  morrow  thou 
In  glory's  fires  shalt  dry  thy  tears  : 
Even  from  the  land  of  shadows  now 
My  father's  awful  ghost  appears. 
Amidst  the  clouds  that  round  us  roll ; 
He  bids  my  soul  for  battle  thirst — 
He  bids  me  dry  the  last — the  first — 
The  only  tears  that  ever  burst 
From  Outalissi's  soul ; 
Because  I  may  not  stain  with  grief 
The  death  song  of  an  Indian  chief." 


END  OF  PART   THIRD. 


O'CONNOR'S  CHILD, 

OR, 

THE  FLOWER  OF  LOVE  LIES  BLEEDING 

I. 

OH  once  the  harp  of  Innisfail* 
Was  strung  full  high  to  notes  of  gladness ; 
But  yet  it  often  told  a  tale 
Of  more  prevailing  sadness. 
Sad  was  the  note,  and  wild  its  fall, 
As  winds  that  moan  at  night  forlorn 
Along  the  isles  of  Fion-Gael, 
When  for  O'Connor's  child  to  mourn, 
The  harper  told,  how  lone,  how  far 
From  any  mansion's  twinkling  star, 
From  any  path  of  social  men, 
Or  voice,  but  from  the  fox's  den, 
The  Lady  in  the  desert  dwelt, 
And  yet  no  wrongs,  no  fear  she  felt : 
Say,  why  should  dwell  in  place  so  wild 
The  lovely  pale  O'Connor's  child  ? 

II. 

Sweet  lady  !  she  no  more  inspires 
Green  Erin's  heart  with  beauty's  pow'r, 
As  in  the  palace  of  her  sires 
She  bloomed  a  peerless  flow'r. 
Gone  from  her  hand  and  bosom,  gone, 
The  regal  broche,  the  jewelled  ring, 

*  The  ancient  name  of  Ireland, 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  79 

That  o'er  her  dazzling  whiteness  shone 

Like  dews  on  lilies  of  the  spring. 

Yet  why,  though  fallen  her  brother's  kerne,* 

Beneath  De  Bourgo's  battle  stern, 

While  yet  in  Leinster  unexplored, 

Her  friends  survive  the  Englis-h  sword ; 

Why  lingers  she  from  Erin's  host, 

So  far  on  Galway's  shipwrecked  coast ; 

Why  wanders  she  a  huntress  wild- 

The  lovely  pale  O'Connor's  child? 

,  III. 

And  fixed  on  empty  space,  why  burn 
Her  eyes  with  momentary  wildness  ; 
And  wherefore  do  they  then  return 
To  more  than  woman's  mildness  ? 
Dishevelled  are  her  raven  locks, 
On  Connocht  Morari's  name  she  calls ; 
And  oft  amidst  the  lonely  rocks 
She  sings  sweet  madrigals. 
Placed  in  the  foxglove  and  the  moss, 
Behold  a  parted  warrior's  cross  ! 
That  is  the  spot  where,  evermore, 
The  lady,  at  her  shielingt  door, 
Enjoys  that  in  communion  sweet, 
The  living  and  the  dead  can  meet: 
Fjr  lo  !  to  lovelorn  fantasy,         , 
The  hero  of  her  heart  is  nigh. 

IV. 

Bright  as  the  bow  that  spans  the  storm, 
In  Erin's  yellow  vesture  clad, 
A  son  of  light — a  lovely  form, 
He  comes  and  makes  her  glad : 

*  Kerne,  the  ancient  Irish  foot  soldiery, 
t  Rude  hut,  or  cabin. 


80  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

Now  on  the  grass-green  turf  he  sits, 

His  tasselled  horn  beside  him  laid ; 

Now  o'er  the  hills  in  chase  he  flits, 

The  hunter  and  the  deer  a  shade  ! 

Sweet  mourner !  those  are  shadows  vain, 

That  cross  the  twilight  of  her  brain ; 

Yet  she  will  tell  you,  she  is  blest, 

Of  Connocht  Moran's  tomb  possessed, 

More  richly  than  in  Aghrim's  bow'r, 

When  bards  high  praised  her  beauty's  pow'r, 

And  kneeling  pages  offered  up 

The  morat*  in  a  golden  cup. 

V. 

"  A  hero's  bride !  this  desert  bow'r, 
It  ill  befits  thy  gentle  breeding : 
And  wherefore  dost  thou  love  this  flow'r 
To  call— My  love  lies  bleeding  ?" 

"  This  purple  flow'r  my  tears  have  nursed; 
A  heroe's  blood  supplied  its  bloom  : 
I  love  it,  for  it  was  the  first 
That  grew  on  Connocht  Moran's  tomb. 
Oh  !  hearken,  stranger,  to  my  voice  \ 
This  desert  mansion  is  my  choice ; 
And  blest,  though  fatal,  be  the  star 
That  led  me  to  its  wilds  afar : 
For  here  these  pathless  mountains  free 
Gave  shelter  to  my  love  and  me ; 
And  every  rock  and  every  stone 
Bare  witness  that  he  was  my  own. 

VI. 

"  O'Connor's  child,  I  was  the  bud 
Of  Erin's  royal  tree  of  glory ; 
But  wo  to  them  that  wrapt  in  blood 
The  tissue  of  my  story ! 
*  A  4iink  made  of  the  juice  of  mulberry  mised  with  honey. 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  81 

Still  as  I  clasp  my  burning  brain, 
A  death-scene  rushes  on  my  sight; 
It  rises  o'er  and  o'er  again. 
The  bloody  feud, — the  fatal  night, 
When  chafing  Connocht  Moran's  scorn, 
They  called  my  hero  basely  born ; 
And  bade  him  choose  a  meaner  bride 
Than  from  O'Connor's  house  of  pride. 
Their  tribe,  they  said,  their  high  degree, 
Was  sung  in  Tara's  psaltery  ;* 
Witness  their  EatL's  victorious  brand,t 
And  Cathal  of  the  bloody  hand, — 
Glory  (they  said)  and  power  and  honour 
Were  in  the  mansion  of  O'Connor ; 
But  he,  my  lov'd  one,  bore  in  field 
A  meaner  crest  upon  his  shield. 

VII. 

"  Ah,  brothers !  what  did  it  avail, 
That  fiercely  and  triumphantly 
Ye  fought  the  English  of  the  pale, 
And  stemmed  De  Bourgo's  chivalry  ? 
And  what  was  it  to  love  and  me, 
That  barons  by  your  standard  rode  ; 
Or  beal-firesj  for  your  jubilee, 
Upon  a  hundred  mountains  glowed. 
What  tho5  the  lords  of  tower  and  dome 
From  Shannon  to  the  North-sea  foam, — 
Thought  ye  your  iron  hands  of  pride 
Could  break  the  knot  that  love  had  tied  ? 
No  : — let  the  eagle  change  his  plume, 
The  leaf  its  hue,  the  flower  its  bloom  ; 

*  The  psalter  of  Tara  was  the  great  national  register  of  the  ancien 
Irish. 

t  Vide  the  note  upon  tho  victories  of  the  house  of  O'Connor. 

I  Fires  lighted  on  May-day  011  the  hill  tops  by  the  Irish.  Vide  the 
note  on  stanza  VII. 


82  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

But  ties  around  this  heart  were  spun, 
That  could  not,  would  not,  be  undone ! 

VIII. 

"  At  bleating  of  the  wild  watch  fold 
Thus  sang  my  love—'  0  come  with  me : 
Our  bark  is  on  the  lake :  behold, 
Our  steeds  are  fastened  to  the  tree. 
Come  far  from  Castle-Connor's  clans — 
Come  with  thy  belted  forestere, 
And  I,  beside  the  lake  of  swans, 
Shall  hunt  for  thee  the  fallow  deer ; 
And  build  thy  hut  and  bring  thee  home 
The  wild  fowl  and  the  honeycomb ; 
And  berries  from  the  wood  provide, 
And  play  my  clarshech*  by  thy  side. 
Then  come,  my  love  !' — How  could  I  stay  ? 
Our  nimble  stag-hounds  tracked  the  way, 
And  I  pursued  by  moonless  skies, 
The  light  of  Connocht  Moran's  eyes. 

IX. 

"  And  fast  and  far,  before  the  star 

Of  dayspring  rushed  me  thro5  the  glade, 

And  saw  at  dawn  the  lofty  bawnf 

Of  Castle  Connor  fade. 

Sweet  was  to  us  the  hermitage 

Of  this  unploughed,  untrodden  shore  : 

Like  birds  all  joyous  from  the  cage, 

For  man's  neglect  we  loved  it  more. 

And  well  he  knew,  my  huntsman  dear, 

To  search  the  game  with  hawk  and  spear; 

While  I,  his  evening  food  to  dress, 

Would  sing  to  him  in  happiness. 

*  Tlie  harp.  t  Ancient  fortification. 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  83 

*  But  oh,  that  midnight  of  despair  ! 
When  I  was  doomed  to  rend  my  hair: 
The  night,  to  me,  of  shrieking  sorrow ! 
The  night,  to  him,  that  had  no  morrow ! 

X. 

"  When  all  was  hushed  at  eventide, 

I  heard  the  baying  of  their  beagle  : 

Be  hushc'.l !  my  Connocht  Moran  cried, 

'Tis  but  the  screaming  of  the  eagle. 

Alas !  'twas  not  the  eyrie's  sound, 

Their  bloody  bands  had  tracked  us  out : 

Up-list"'ning  starts  our  couchant  hound — 

And  hark  1  again,  that  nearer  shout 

Brings  faster  on  the  murderers. 

Spare — spare  him — Bazil — Desmond  fierce ! 

In  vain — no  voice  the  adder  charms  ; 

Their  weapons  crossed  my  sheltering  arms : 

Another's  sword  has  laid  him  low — 

Another's  and  another's ; 

And  every  hand  that  dealt  the  blow — 

Ah  me  !  it  was  a  brother's  ! 

Yes,  when  his  meanings  died  away, 

Their  iron  hands  had  dug  the  clay, 

And  o'er  his  burial  turf  they  trod, 

And  I  beheld— Oh  God  !  Oh  God ! 

His  life-blood  oozing  from  the  sod ! 

XL 

"  Warm  in  his  death-wounds  sepulchred, 
Alas !  my  warrior's  spirit  brave, 
Nor  mass  nor  ulla-lulla*  heard, 
Lamenting  soothe  his  grave. 
Dragged  to  their  hated  mansion  back, 
How  long  in  thraldom's  grasp  I  lay, 

*  The  Irish  lamentation  for  the  dead. 


[  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

I  know  not,  for  my  soul  was  black, 
And  knew  no  change  of  night  or  day. 
One  night  of  horror  round  me  grew  ; 
Or  if  I  saw,  or  felt,  or  knew, 
'Twas  but  when  those  grim  visages, 
The  angry  brothers  of  my  race. 
Glared  on  each  eyeball's  aching  throb, 
And  checked  my  bosom's  pow'r  to  sob  ; 
Or  when  my  heart  with  pulses  drear, 
Beat  like  a  deathwatch  to  my  ear. 

XII. 

"  But  Heav'n,  at  last,  my  soul's  eclipse 
Did  with  a  vision  bright  inspire : 
I  woke,  and  felt  upon  my  lips 
A  prophetess's  fire. 
Thrice  in  the  east  a  war-drum  beat, 
I  heard  the  Saxon's  trumpet  sound, 
And  ranged  as  to  the  judgment  seat 
My  guilty,  trembling  brothers  round. 
Clad  in  the  helm  and  shield  they  came ; 
For  now  De  Bourgo's  sword  and  flame 
Had  ravaged  Ulster's  boundaries, 
And  lighted  up  the  midnight  skies. 
The  standard  of  O'Connor's  sway 
Was  in  the  turret  where  I  lay : 
That  standard,  with  so  dire  a  look, 
As  ghastly  shone  the  moon  and  pale, 
I  gave, — that  every  bosom  shook 
Beneath  its  iron  mail. 

XIII. 

"  And  go  !  I  cried,  the  combat  seek, 
Yet  hearts  that  unappalled  bore 
The  anguish  of  a  sister's  shriek, 
Go  ! — and  return  no  more f 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  85 

For  sooner  guilt  the  ordeal  brand 
Shall  grasp  unhurt,  than  ye  shall  hold 
The  banner  with  victorious  hand, 
Beneath  a  sister's  curse  unrolled. 
Oh  stranger !  by  my  country's  loss  ! 
And  by  my  love  !  and  by  the  cross  ! 
I  swear  I  never  could  have  spoke 
The  curse  that  severed  nature's  yoke ; 
But  that  a  spirit  o'er  me  stood, 
And  fired  me  with  the  wrathful  mood ; 
And  frenzy  to  my  heart  was  giv'n, 
To  speak  the  malison  of  heav'n. 

XIV. 

"  They  would  have  crossed  themselves  all  mute, 

They  would  have  prayed  to  burst  the  spell ; 

But  at  the  stamping  of  my  foot 

Each  hand  down  pow'rless  fell ! 

And  go  to  Athunree  !*  I  cried, 

High  lift  the  banner  of  your  pride  ! 

But  know  that  where  its  sheet  unrolls 

The  weight  of  blood  is  on  your  souls ! 

Go  where  the  havoc  of  your  kerne 

Shall  float  as  high  as  mountain  fern ! 

Men  shall  no  more  your  mansion  know ! 

The  nettles  on  your  heart  shall  grow ! 

Dead  as  the  green  oblivious  flood, 

That  mantles  by  your  walls,  shall  be 

The  glory  of  O'Connor's  blood  ! 

Away !  away  to  Athunree  ! 

Where  dpwnward  when  the  sun  shall  fall 

The  raven's  wing  shall  be  your  pall ; 

*  Athunree,  the  battle  fought  in  1314,  which  decided  the  fate  oi 
Ireland. 

H 


86  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

And  not  a  vassal  shall  unlace 
The  vizor  from  your  dying  face ! 

XV. 

"  A  boll  that  overhung  our  dome 
Suspended  till  my  curse  was  given, 
Soon  as  it  passed  these  lips  of  foam 
Pealed  in  the  blood-red  heaven. 
Dire  was  the  look  that  o'er  their  backs 
The  angry  parting  brothers  threw ; 
But  now,  behold !  Tike  cataracts, 
Come  down  the  hills  in  view. 
O'Connor's  plumed  partisans, 
Thrice  ten  Innisfallian  clans 
Were  marching  to  their  doom  : 
A  sudden  storm  their  plumage  tossed, 
A  flash  of  lightning  o'er  them  crossed, 
And  all  again  was  gloom ; 
But  once  again  in  heaven  the  bands 
Of  thunder  spirits  clapt  their  hands. 

XVI. 

"  Stranger !  I  fled  the  home  of  grief, 
At  Connocht  JVloran's  tomb  to  fall ; 
I  found  the  helmet  of  my  chief, 
His  bow  still  hanging  on  our  wall ; 
And  took  it  down,  and  vowed  to  rove 
This  desert  place  a  huntress  bold ; 
Nor  would  I  change  my  buried  love 
For  any  heart  of  living  mould. 
No  !  for  I  am  a  hero's  child, 
I'll  hunt  my  quarry  in  the  wild  ; 
And  still  my  home  this  mansion  make, 
Of  all  unheeded  and  unheeding, 
And  cherish  for  my  warrior's  sake, 
The  flower  of  love  lies  bleeding." 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  87 


LOCHIEL'S  WARNING 


WIZARD— LOCHIEL. 

WIZARD. 

LOCHIEL  !  Lochiel,  beware  of  the  day 
When  the  Lowlands  shall  meet  thee  in  battle  array ! 
For  a  field  of  the  dead  rushes  red  on  my  sight, 
And  the  clans  of  Culloden  are  scattered  in  fight : 
They  rally,  they  bleed,  for  their  kingdom  and  crown ; 
Wo,  wo  to  the  riders  that  trample  them  down ! 
Proud  Cumberland  prances,  insulting  the  slain, 
And  their  hoof-beaten  bosoms  are  trod  to  the  plain. 
But  hark !  through  the  fast-flashing  lightning  of  war, 
What  steed  to  the  desert  flies  frantic  and  far  ? 
3Tis  thine,  oh  Glenullin  !  whose  bride  shall  await, 
Like  a  love-lighted  watchfire,  all  night  at  the  gate. 
A  steed  comes  at  morning :  no  rider  is  there  ; 
But  its  bridle  is  red  with  the  sign  of  despair. 
Weep,  Albin  !  to  death  and  captivity  led  ! 
Oh  weep  !  but  thy  tears  cannot  number  the  dead  : 
For  a  merciless  sword  on  CulJoden  shall  wave, 
Culloden  !  that  reeks  with  the  blood  of  the  brave. 

LOCHIEL. 

Go,  preach  to  the  coward,  thou  death  telling  seer ! 
Or,  if  gory  Culloden  so  dreadful  appear, 
Draw,  dotard,  around  thy  old  wavering  sight ! 
This  mantle,  to  cover  the  phantoms  of  fright. 


88  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

WIZARD. 

Ha  !  laugh's!  thou,  Lochiel,  my  vision  to  scorn  ? 
Proud  bird  of  the  mountain,  thy  plume  shall  be  torn  ! 
Say,  rushed  the  bold  eagle  exultingly  forth, 
From  his  home,  in  the  dark  rolling  clouds  of  the  north  ? 
Lo  !  the  death-shot  of  foeman  o.utspeeding,  he  rode 
Companionless,  bearing  destruction  abroad  ; 
But  down  let  him  stoop  from  his  havoc  on  high ! 
Ah  !  home  let  him  speed — for  the  spoiler  is  nigh. 
Why  flames  the  far  summit  ?  Why  shoot  to  the  blast 
Those  embers,  like  stars  from  the  firmament  cast  ? 
5Tis  the  fire-shower  of  ruin  all  dreadfully  driven 
From  his  eyrie,  that  beacons  the  darkness  of  heaven. 
Oh,  crested  Lochiel !  the  peerless  in  might, 
Whose  banners  arise  on  the  battlements'  height, 
Heaven's  fire  is  around  thee,  to  blast  and  to  burn ; 
Return  to  thy  dwelling !  all  lonely  return  ! 
For  the  blackness  of  ashes  shall  mark  where  it  stood, 
And  a  wild  mother  scream  o'er  her  famishing  brood. 

LOCHIEL. 

False  Wizard  avaunt !  I  have  marshalled  my  clan  : 
Their  swords  are  a  thousand,  their  bosoms  are  one  ! 
They  are  true  to  the  last  of  their  blood  and  their  breath, 
And  like  reapers  descend  to  the  harvest  of  death. 
Then  welcome  be  Cumberland's  steed  to  the  shock ! 
Let  him  dash  his  proud  foam  like  a  wave  on  the  rock ! 
But  wo  to  his  kindred,  and  wo  to  his  cause, 
When  Albin  her  claymore  indignantly  draws  ; 
When  her  bonnetted  chieftains  to  victory  crowd, 
Clanranald  the  dauntless,  and  Moray  the  proud ; 
All  plaided  and  plumed  in  their  tartan  array 

WIZARD. 

« Lochiel,  Lochiel,  beware  of  the  day  ! 

For,  dark  anil  despairing,  my  sight  I  may  seal, 
But  man  cannot  cover  what  God  would  reveal : 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  89 

'Tis  the  sunset  of  life  gives  me  mystical  lore, 

And  coming  events  cast  their  shadows  before. 

I  tell  thee,  Culloden's  dread  echoes  shall  ring 

With  the  bloodhounds,  that  bark  for  thy  fugitive  king. 

Lo !  anointed  by  heaven  with  the  vials  of  wrath, 

Behold,  where  he  flies  on  his  desolate  path  !  , 

Now,  in  darkness  and  billows,  he  sweeps  from  my  sight: 

Rise  !  rise  !  ye  wild  tempests,  and  cover  his  flight ! 

9Tis  finished.    Their  thunders  are  husfyed  on  the  moors  ; 

Culloden  is  lost,  and  my  country  deplores  ; 

But  where  is  the  iron-bound  prisoner  ?  Where  ? 

For  the  red  eye  of  battle  is  shut  in  despair. 

Say,  mounts  he  the  ocean-wave,  banished,  forlorn, 

Like  a  limb  from  his  country  cast  bleeding  and  torn  ? 

Ah  no !  for  a  darker  departure  is  near  ; 

The  war-drum  is  muffled,  and  black  is  the  bier  ; 

His  death-bell  is  tolling ;  oh  !  mercy,  dispel 

Yon  sight,  that  it  freezes  my  spirit  to  tell ! 

Life  flutters  convulsed  in  his  quivering  limbs, 

And  his  blood-streaming  nostril  in  agony  swims. 

Accursed  be  the  faggots,  that  blaze  at  his  feet, 

Where  his  heart  shall  be  thrown  ere  it  ceases  to  beat 

With  the  smoke  of  its  ashes  to  poison  the  gale 

L.OCHIEL. 

Down  soothless  insulter!  I  trust  not  the  tale  :  [gore, 

Though  my  perishing  ranks  should  be  strewed  in  their 
Like  ocean-weeds  heaped  on  the  surf-beaten  shore, 
Lochiel,  untainted  by  flight  or  by  chains, 
While  the  kindling  of  life  in  his  bosom  remains, 
Shall  victor  exult,  or  in  death  be  laid  low, 
With  his  back  to  the  field,  and  his  feet  to  the  foe  ! 
And  leaving  in  battle  no  blot  on  his  name, 
Look  proudly  to  heaven  from  the  death-bed  of  fame. 
H2 


90  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 


SPECIMENS 


TRANSLATION  FROM  MEDEA. 

Zxaisj  Ji  Ktyuv,  xsSji;  ri  (TG$sf 
TH;  jr^orSt  /S^ornf  «x  «v  ee^^TOif. 

.Medea, v.  194, p. 33,  Glasg.edit. 

TELL  me,  ye  bards,  whose  skill  sublime 
First  charmed  the  ear  of  youthful  Time, 
With  numbers  wrapt  in  heav'nly  fire  ; 
Who  bade  delighted  Echo  swell 
The  trembling  transport  of  the  lyre, 
The  murmur  of  the  shell, — 
Why  to  the  burst  of  Joy  alone 
Accords  sweet  Music's  soothing  tone  ? 
Why  can  no  bard,  with  magic  strain, 
In  slumbers  steep  the  heart  of  pain  ? 
While  varied  tones  obey  your  sweep, 
The  mild,  the  plaintive,  and  the  deep, 
Bends  not  despairing  Grief  to  hear 
Your  golden  lute,  with  ravished  ear? 
Oh  !  has  your  sweetest  shell  no  power  to  bind 
The  fiercer  pangs  that  shake  the  mind, 
And  lull  the  wrath,  at  whose  command 
Murder  bares  her  gory  hand  ? 
When  flushed  with  joy,  the  rosy  throng 
Weaye  the  light  dance,  ye  swell  the  song ! 
Cease,  ye  vain  warblers !  cease  to  charm 
The  breast  with  other  raptures  warm ! 
Cease !  till  your  hand  with  magic  strain 
In  slumbers  steep  the  heart  of  pain ! 


91 


SPEECH  OF  THE  CHORUS 


THE  SAME  TRAGEDY, 

To  dissuade  Medea  from  her  purpose  of  putting  her 
children  to  death,  and  flying  for  protection  to  Athens. 

O  haggard  queen !  to  Athens  dost  thou  guide 
Thy  glowing  chariot,  steeped  in  kindred  gore  ; 

Or  seek  to  hide  thy  damned  parricide 

Where  Peace  and  Mercy  dwell  for  ever  more  ? 

The  land  where  Truth,  pure,  precious,  and  sublime, 
Woos  the  deep  silence  of  sequestered  bowers, 

And  warriors,  matchless  since  the  first  of  Time, 
Rear  their  bright  banners  o'er  unconquered  towers  { 

Where  joyous  Youth,  to  Music's  mellow  strain, 
Twines  in  the  dance  with  Nymphs  for  ever  fair, 

While  Spring  eternal,  on  the  lilied  plain, 

Waves  amber  radiance  through  the  fields  of  air  ! 

The  tuneful  Nine  (so  sacred  legends  tell) 

First  waked  their  heavenly  lyre  these  scenes  amonf 

Still  in  your  greenwood  bowers  they  love  to  dwell ; 
Still  in  your  vales  they  swell  the  choral  song  ! 

For  there  the  tuneful,  chaste,  Pierian  fair, 

The  guardian  nymphs  of  green  Parnassus  now, 

Sprung  from  Harmonia,  while  her  graceful  hair 
Waved  in  bright  auburn  o'er  her  polished  brow  ! 


92  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

ANTISTROPHE  I. 

Where  silent  vales,  and  glades  of  green  array, 
The  murm'ring  wreaths  of  cool  Cephisus  lave, 

There  as  the  Muse  hath  sung,  at  noon  of  day, 
The  Queen  of  Beauty  bowed  to  taste  the  wave  ; 

And  hlest  the  stream,  and  breathed  across  the  land, 
The  soft  sweet  gale  that  fans  yon  summer  bowers  ; 

And  there  the  sister  Loves,  a  smiling  band, 

Crowned  with  the  fragrant  wreaths  of  rosy  flowers  * 

"  And  go,  she  cries,  in  yonder  valleys  rove 

With  Beauty's  torch  the  solemn  scenes  illume  ; 

Wake  in  each  eye  the  radiant  light  of  Love, 

Breathe  on  each  cheek  young  Passion's  tender  bloom! 

Entwine  with  myrtle  chains,  your  soft  control, 
To  sway  the  hearts  of  Freedom's  darling  kind  ! 

With  glowing  charms  enrapture  Wisdom's  soul, 
And  mould  to  grace  ethereal  Virtue's  mind." 

STROPHE  II. 

The  land  where  Heaven's  own  hallowed  waters  play, 
Where  friendship  binds  the  generous  and  the  good, 

Say,  shall  it  hail  thee  from  thy  frantic  way, 
Unholy  woman  !  with  thy  hands  imbrued 

In  thine  own  children's  gore  ? — Oh  !  ere  they  bleed, 
Let  Nature's  voice  thy  ruthless  heart  appal  ! 

Pause  at  the  bold,  irrevocable  deed — 

The  mother  strikes — the  guiltless  babes  sh;ill  fall ! 

Think  what  remorse  thy  maddening  thoughts  shall  sting, 
When  dying  pangs  their  gentle  bosoms  tear ; 

Where  shalt  thou  sink,  when  ling'ring  echoes  ring 
The  screams  of  horror  in  thy  tortured  ear  ? 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  93 

.No  !  let  thy  bosom  melt  to  Pity's  cry, — 

In  dust  we  kneel — by  sacred  Heaven  implore — 

O  !  stop  thy  lifted  arm,  ere  yet  they  die, 
Nor  dip  thy  horrid  hands  in  infant  gore ! 

ANTISTROPHE  II. 

Say,  how  shalt  thou  thatbarb'rous  soul  assume, 
Undamped  by  horror  at  the  daring  plan  ? 

Hast  thou  a  heart  to  work  thy  children's  doom  ? 
Or  hands  to  finish  what  thy  wrath  began  ? 

When  o'er  each  babe  you  look  a  last  adieu, 
And  gaze  on  innocence  that  smiles  asleep, 

Shall  no  fond  feeling  beat,  to  nature  true, 

Charm  thee  to  pensive  thought — and  bid  thee  weep  ? 

When  the  young  suppliants  clasp  their  parent  dear, 
Heave  the  deep  sob,  and  pour  the  artless  prayer, — 

Ay !  thou  shalt  melt ; — and  many  a  heart-shed  tear 
Gush  o'er  the  hardened  features  of  despair  ! 

-Nature  shall  throb  in  ev'ry  tender  string, 
Thy  trembling  heart  the  ruffian's  task  deny ; 

Thy  horror-smitten  hands  afar  shall  fling 

The  blade,  undrenched  in  blood's  eternal  dye ! 

CHORUS. 

Hallowed  Earth !  with  indignation 
Mark,  oh  mark,  the  murd'rous  deed ! 

Radiant  eye  of  wide  creation, 
Watch  the  damned  parricide  ! 

Yet,  ere  Colchia's  rugged  daughter 

Perpetrate  the  dire  design, 
And  consign  to  kindred  slaughter 

Children  of  thy  golden  line ; 


94  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

Shall  the  hand,  with  murder  gory, 
Cause  immortal  blood  to  flow? 

Sun  of  Heav'n — arrayed  in  glory  ! 
Rise, — forbid, — avert  the  blow  ! 

In  the  vales  of  placid  gladness 
Let  no  rueful  maniac  range ; 

Chase  afar  the  fiend  of  Madness 
Wrest  the  dagger  from  Revenge1. 

Say,  hast  thou,  with  kind  protection, 
Reared  thy  smiling  race  in  vain ; 

Fost'ring  Nature's  fond  affection, 
Tender  cares,  and  pleasing  pain  ? 

Hast  thou,  on  the  troubled  ocean, 
Braved  the  tempest  loud  and  strong, 

Where  the  waves,  in  wild  commotion, 
Roar  Cyanean  rocks  among  ? 

Didst  thou  roam  the  paths  of  danger, 

Hymenean  joys  to  prove  ? 
Spare,  O  sanguinary  stranger, 

Pledges  of  thy  sacred  love  ! 

Shall  not  Heaven,  with  indignation 
Watch  thee  o'er  the  barb'rous  deed  ? 

Shalt  thou  cleanse,  with  expiation, 
Monstrous,  murd'rous,  parricide  ? 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS  95 

LOVE  AND  MADNESS. 

AN  ELEGY. 

Written  in  1795. 

Hark  i  from  the  battlements  of  yonder  tower* 
The  solemn  bell  has  tolled  the  midnight  hour ! 
Roused  from  drear  visions  of  distempered  sleep, 
Poor  B k  wakes — in  solitude  to  weep ! 

"  Cease,  Mem'ry  cease  (the  friendless  mourner  cried) 
To  probe  the  bosom  too  severely  tried  ! 
Oh  ever  cease,  my  pensive  thoughts,  to  stray 
Through  the  bright  fields  of  Fortune's  better  day  : 
When  youthful  hope,  the  music  of  the  mind, 
Tuned  all  its  charms,  and  E n  was  kind  ! 

"  Yet,  can  I  cease,  while  glows  this  trembling  frame, 
In  sighs  to  speak  thy  melancholy  name  ? 
I  hear  thy  spirit  wail  in  every  storm  ! 
In  midnight  shades  I  view  thy  passing  form  ! 
Pale  as  in  that  sad  hour,  when  doomed  to  feel, 
Deep  in  thy  perjured  heart  the  bloody  steel ! 

"  Demons  of  Vengeance !  ye  at  whose  command 
I  grasped  the  sword  with  more  than  woman's  hand 
Say  ye,  did  Pity's  trembling  voice  control, 
Or  horror  damp  the  purpose  of  my  soul  ? 
No !  my  wild  heart  sat  smiling  o'er  the  plan, 
Till  Hate  fulfilled  what  baffled  Love  began  t 

*    *  Warwick  Castle. 


96  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

"  Yes ;  let  the  clay-cold  breast,  that  never  knew 
One  tender  pang  to  generous  Nature  true. 
Half  mingling  pity  with  the  gall  of  scorn, 
Condemn  this  heart  that  bled  in  love  forlorn ! 

"  And  ye,  proud  fair,  whose  soul  no  gladness  warms, 
Save  Rapture's  homage  to  your  conscious  charms! 
Delighted  idols  of  a  gaudy  train  ! 
Ill  can  your  blunter  feelings  guess  the  pain, 
When  the  fond  faithful  heart,  inspired  to  prove 
Friendship  refined,  the  calm  delight  of  love, 
Feels  all  its  tender  strings  with  anguish  torn. 
And  bleeds  at  perjured  Pride's  inhuman  scorn ! 

"  Say,  then,  did  pitying  Heav'n  condemn  the  deed, 
When  Vengeance  bade  thee,  faithless  lover !  bleed  ? 
Long  had  I  watched  thy  dark  foreboding  brow. 
What  time  thy  bosom  scorned  its  dearest  vow ! 
Sad,  though  I  wept  the  friend,  the  lover  changed, 
Still  thy  cold  look  was  scornful  and  estranged, 
Till  from  thy  pity,  love,  and  shelter  thrown, 
I  wandered  hopeless,  friendless,  and  alone ! 

"  Oh  !  righteous  Heav'n !  'twas  then  my  tortured  soul 
First  gave  to  wrath  unlimited  control ! 
Adieu  the  silent  look !  the  streaming  eye ! 
The  murmured  plaint !  the  deep  heart-heaving  sigh ! 
Long  slumb'ring  Vengeance  wakes  to  better  deeds ; 
He  shrieks,  he  falls,  the  perjured  Lover  bleeds ! 
Now  the  last  laugh  of  agony  is  o'er, 
And  pale  in  blood  he  sleeps,  to  wake  no  more ! 

"  'Tis  done !  the  flame  of  hate  no  longer  burns ; 
Nature  relents,  but  ah !  too  late  returns  ! 
Why  does  my  soul  this  gush  of  fondness  feel  ? 
Trembling  and  faint,  I  drop  the  guilty  steel ! 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  97 

Cold  on  my  heart  the  hand  of  terror  lies, 

And  shades  of  horror  close  my  languid  eyes ! — 

"  Oh !  'twas  a  deed  of  Murder's  deepest  grain ! 

Could  B k's,  soul  so  true  to  wrath  remain  ? 

A  friend  long  true,  a  once  fond  lover  fell ! — 
Where  Love  was  fostered,  could  not  Pity  dwell  ? 

"  Unhappy  youth  !  while  yon  pale  crescent  glows, 
To  watch  on  silent  Nature's  deep  repose, 
Thy  sleepless  spirit,  breathing  from  the  tomb, 
Foretells  my  fate,  and  summons  me  to  come ! 
Once  more  I  see  thy  sheeted  spectre  stand, 
Roll  the  dim  eye,  and  wave  the  paly  hand ! 

"  Soon  may  this  fluttering  spark  of  vital  flame 
Forsake  its  languid  melancholy  frame  ! 
Soon  may  these  eyes  their  trembling  lustre  close, 
Welcome  the  dreamless  night  of  long  repose  ! 
Soan  may  this  wo-worn  spirit  seek  the  bourne ! 
Where,  lulled  to  slumber,  Grief  forgets  to  itiourn !" 


THE  WOUNDED  HUSSAR. 

ALONE  by  the  banks  of  the  dark  rolling  Danube 
Fair  Adelaide  hied  when  the  battle  was  o'er : 

Oh  whither,  she  cried,  hast  thou  wandered,  my  lover, 
Or  here  dost  thou  welter,  and  bleed  on  the  shore ! 

What  voice  did  I  hear  ?  'twas  my  Henry  that  sighed f 
All  mournful  she  hastened,  nor  wandered  she  far, 

When  bleeding,  and  low,  on  the  heath  she  descried, 
By  the  light  of  the  moon,  her  poor  wounded  Hussar ! 
I 


98  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

From  his  bosom  that  heaved,  the  last  torrent  was  stream- 
ing,      • 

And  pale  was  his  visage,  deep  marked  with  a  scar ; 
And  dim  was  that  eye,  once  expressively  beaming, 

That  melted  in  love,  and  that  kindled  in  war ! 

How  smit  was  poor  Adelaide's  heart  at  the  sight ! 

How  bitter  she  wept  o'er  the  victim  of  war ! 
Hast  thou  come  my  fond  Love,  this  last  sorrowful  night. 

To  cheer  the  lone  heart  of  your  wounded  Hussar  ? 

Thou  shalt  live,  she  replied,  Heav'n's  mercy  relieving 
Each  anguishing  wound,  shall  forbid  me  to  mourn ! 

Ah,  no  !  the  last  pang  in  my  bosom  is  heaving ! 
No  light  of  the  morn  shall  to  Henry  return ! 

Thou  charmer  of  life,  ever  tender  and  true  : 
Ye  babes  of  my  love  that  await  me  afar ! — 

His  faltering  tongue  scarce  could  murmur  adieu, 
When    he   sunk  in  her  arms — the  poor  wounded 
Hussar ! 


GILDEROY. 

THE  last,  the  fatal  hour  is  come, 
That  bears  my  love  from  me  ; 

I  hear  the  dead  note  of  the  drum, 
I  mark  the  gallows  tree  ! 

The  bell  has  tolled ;  it  shakes  my  heart ; 

The  trumpet  speaks  thy  name ; 
And  must  my  Gilderoy  depart 

To  bear  a  death  of  shame  ? 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  99 

No  bosom  trembles  for  thy  doom ; 

No  mourner  wipes  a  tear ; 
The  gallows'  foot  is  all  thy  tomb, 

The  sledge  is  all  thy  bier  ! 

Oh,  Gilderoy !  bethought  we  then 

So  soon,  so  sad,  to  part, 
When  first  in  Roslin's  lovely  glen 

You  triumphed  o'er  my  heart  ? 

Your  locks  they  glittered  to  the  sheen 

Your  hunter  garb  was  trim ; 
And  graceful  was  the  ribbon  green 

That  bound  your  manly  limb  ! 

Ah!  little  thought  I  to  deplore 

These  limbs  in  fetters  bound ; 
Or  hear,  upon  thy  scaffold  floor, 

The  midnight  hammer  sound. 

Ye  cruel,  cruel,  that  combined 

The  guiltless  to  pursue  ; 
My  Gilderoy  was  ever  kind, 

He  could  not  injure  you ! 

A  long  adieu !  but  where  shall  fly 

Thy  widow  all  forlorn, 
When  every  mean  and  cruel  eye 

Regards  my  wo  with  scorn  ? 

Yes !  they  will  mock  thy  widow's  tears, 

And  hate  thine  orphan  boy ; 
Alas  !  his  infant  beauty  wears 

The  form  of  Gilderoy ! 

Then  will  I  seek  the  dreary  mound 

That  wraps  thy  mouldering  clay ; 
And  weep  and  linger  on  the  ground, 

And  sigh  my  heart  away. 


100  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 


THE  HARPER. 

ON  the  green  banks  of  Shannon,  when  Sheelah  was 
No  blithe  Irish  lad  was  so  happy  as  I ;  [nigh 

No  harp  like  my  own  could  so  cheerily  play, 
And  wherever  I  went  was  my  poor  dog  Tray. 

When  at  last  I  was  forced  from  my  Sheelah  to  part, 
She  said  (while  the  sorrow  was  big  at  her  heart) 
Oh !  remember  your  Sheelah  when  far,  far  away  ; 
And  be  kind,  my  dear  Pat,  to  our  poor  dog  Tray. 

Poor  dog !  he  was  faithful  and  kind,  to  be  sure, 
And  he  constantly  loved  me,  although  I  was  poor; 
When  the  sour-looking  folks  sent  me  heartless  away, 
1  had  always  a  friend  in  my  poor  dog  Tray. 

When  the  road  was  so  dark,  and  the  night  was  so  cold, 
And  Pat  and  his  dog  were  grown  weary  and  old, 
How  snugly  we  slept  in  my  old  coat  of  gray, 
And  he  licked  me  for  kindness — my  poor  dog  Tray. 

Though  my  wallet  was  scant,  I  remembered  his  case 
Nor  refused  my  last  crust  to  his  pitiful  face ; 
But  he  died  at  my  feet  on  a  cold  winter  day, 
And  I  played  a  sad  lament  for  my  poor  dog  Tray. 

Where  now  shall  I  go,  poor,  forsaken,  and  blind  ? 
Can  I  find  one  to  guide  me,  so  faithful  and  kind? 
To  my  sweet  native  village,  so  far,  far  away, 
I  can  never  more  return  with  my  poor  dog  Tray 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  101 


SONG. 

My  mind  is  my  kingdom,  but  if  thou  wilt  deign 
A  queen  there  to  sway  without  measure  ; 

Then  come,  o'er  its  wishes  and  homage  to  reign, 
And  make  it  an  empire  of  pleasure. 

Then  of  thoughts  and  emotions  each  mutinous  crowd, 
That  rebelled  at  stern  reason  and  duty, 

Returning — shall  yield  all  their  loyalty  proud 
To  the  Halcyon  dominion  of  beauty. 


THE  BEECH  TREE'S  PETITION. 

OH  !  leave  this  barren  spot  to  me, 
Spare,  woodman,  spare  the  beechen  tree. 
Though  shrub  or  floweret  never  grow, 
My  wan  unwanning  shade  below, 
Nor  fruits  of  autumn  blossom  born, 
My  green  and  glossy  leaves  adorn, 
Nor  murmuring  tribes  from  me  derive 
The  ambrosial  treasures  of  the  hive, 
Yet  leave  this  little  spot  to  me, 
Spare,  woodman,  spare  the  beechen  tree. 

Thrice  twenty  summers  I  have  stood 
In  bloomless,  fruitless  solitude ; 
Since  childhood  in  my  rustling  bower 
First  spent  its  sweet  and  sportive  hour, 
Since  youthful  lovers  in  my  shade 
Their  vows  of  truth  and  rapture  paid, 


102  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS 

And  on  my  trunk's  surviving  frame 
Carved  many  a  long  forgotten  name. 
Oh,  by  the  vows  of  gentle  sound 
First  breathed  upon  this  sacred  ground, 
By  all  that  Love  hath  whispered  here, 
Or  beauty  heard  with  ravished  ear, 
As  Love's  own  altar  honour  me, 
Spare,  woodman,  spare  the  beechen  tree. 


HOHENLINDEN. 

OK  Linden,  when  the  sun  was  low, 
All  bloodless  lay  th'  untrodden  snow, 
And  dark  as  winter  was  the  flow 
Of  Iser,  rolling  rapidly. 

But  Linden  saw  another  sight, 
When  the  drum  beat,  at  dead  of  night. 
Commanding  fires  of  death  to  light 
The  darkness  of  her  scenery. 

By  torch  and  trumpet  fast  arrayed, 
Each  horseman  drew  his  battle  blade, 
And  furious  every  charger  neighed. 
To  join  the  dreadful  revelry. 

Then  shook  the  hills  with  thunder  riv'n, 
Then  rushed  the  steed  to  battle  driv'n, 
And  louder  than  the  bolts  of  heaven, 
Far  flashed  the  red  artillery. 

And  redder  yet  those  fires  shall  glow, 
On  Linden's  hills  of  blood  stained  snow, 
And  darker  yet  shall  be  the  flow 
Of  Iser,  rolling  rapidly. 


CAMPBELI/S    POEMS.  103 

'Tis  morn,  but  scarce  yon  lurid  sun 
Can  pierce  the  wat-clouds,  rolling  dun, 
Where  furious  Frank,  and  fiery  Hun, 
Shout  mid  their  sulph'rous  canopy. 

The  combat  deepens.     On,  ye  brave, 
Who  rush  to  glory,  or  the  grave  ! 
Wave,  Munich,  all  thy  banners  wave! 
And  charge  with  all  thy  chivalry  ! 

Ah  !  few  shall  part  where  many  meet ! 
The  snow  shall  be  their  winding  sheet 
And  every  turf  beneath  their  feet, 
Shall  be  a  soldier's  sepulchre. 


YE  MARINERS  OF  ENGLAND. 
A  NAVAL  ODE. 

I. 

YE  Mariners  of  England ! 

That  guard  our  native  seas ; 

Whose  flag  has  braved,  a  thousand  years, 

The  battle  and  the  breeze  ! 

Your  glorious  standard  launch  again 

To  match  another  foe ! 

And  sweep  through  the  deep, 

While  the  stormy  tempests  blow; 

While  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long, 

And  the  stormy  tempests  blow. 


104  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

II. 

The  spirits  of  your  fathers 
Shall  start  from  every  wave ! — 
For  the  deck  it  was  their  field  of  fame, 
And  Ocean  was  their  grave : 
Where  Blake  and  mighty  Nelson  fell 
Your  manly  hearts  shall  glow, 
As  ye  sweep  through  the  deep, 
While  the  stormy  tempests  blow ; 
While  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long, 
And  the  stormy  tempests  blow. 

III. 

Britannia  needs  no  bulwark, 

No  towers  along  the  steep ; 

Her  march  is  o'er  the  mountain  waves, 

Her  home  is  on  the  deep. 

With  thunders  from  her  native  oak, 

She  quells  the  floods  below — 

As  they  roar  on  the  shore, 

When  the  stormy  tempests  blow ; 

When  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long, 

And  the  stormy  tempests  blow. 

IV. 

The  meteor  flag  of  England 

Shall  yet  terrific  burn  ; 

Till  danger's  troubled  night  depart, 

And  the  star  of  peace  return. 

Then,  then,  ye  ocean  warriors ! 

Our  song  and  feast  shall  flow 

To  the  fame  of  your  name, 

When  the  storm  has  ceased  to  blow ; 

When  the  fiery  fight  is  heard  no  more, 

And  the  storm  has  ceased  to  blow. 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  105 


GLENARA. 

O  HEARD  ye  yon  pibroch  sound  sad  in  the  gale, 
Where  a  band  cometh  slowly  with  weeping  and  wail ! 
'Tis  the  chief  of  Glenara  laments  for  his  dear ; 
And  her  sjre,  and  the  people,  are  called  to  her  bier. 

Glenara  came  first  with  the  mourners  and  shroud ; 
Her  kinsmen  they  followed,  but  mourned  not  aloud : 
Their  plaids  all  their  bosoms  were  folded  around  : 
They  marched  all  in  silence — they  looked  on  the  ground. 

In  silence  they  reached  over  mountain  and  moor, 
To  a  heath,  where  the  oak-tree  grew  lonely  and  hoar ; 
u  Now  here  let  us  place  the  gray  stone  of  her  cairn : 
Why  speak  ye  no  word !" — said  Glenara  the  stern. 

44  And  tell  me,  I  charge  you !  ye  clan  of  my  spouse, 
Why  fold  ye  your  mantles,  why  cloud  ye  your  brows  ?" 
So  spake  the  rude  chieftain  : — no  answer  is  made, 
But  each  mantle  unfolding  a  dagger  displayed. 

"  I  dreamt  of  my  lady,  I  dreamt  of  her  shroud," 
CrieJ  a  voice  from  the  kinsmen,  all  wrathful  and  loud  : 
"  And  empty  that  shroud,  and  that  coffin  did  seem : 
Glenara !  Glsnara  !  now  read  me  my  dream !" 

0  !  pale  grew  the  cheek  of  that  chieftain,  I  ween, 
When  the  shroud  was  unclosed,  and  no  lady  was  seen ; 
When  a  voice  from  the  kinsmen  spoke  louder  in  scorn, 
'Twas  the  youth  who  had  loved  the  fair  Ellen  of  Lorn  : 

"  I  dreamt  of  my  lady,  I  dreamt  of  her  grief, 

1  dreamt  that  her  lord  was  a  barbarous  chief: 
On  a  rock  of  the  ocean  fair  Ellen  did  seem  ; 
Glenara !  Glenara !  now  read  me  my  dream !" 


106  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

In  dust,  low  the  traitor  has  knelt  to  the  ground, 
And  the  desert  revealed  where  his  lady  was  found  ; 
From  a  rock  of  the  ocean  that  bea-uty  is  borne, 
Now  joy  to  the  house  of  fair  Ellen  of  Lorn ! 


BATTLE  OF  THE  BALTIC. 

I. 

OF  Nelson  and  the  North, 
Sings  the  glorious  day's  renown, 
When  to  battle  fierce  came  forth 
All  the  might  of  Denmark's  crown, 
And  her  arms  along  the  deep  proudly  shone ; 
By  each  gun  the  lighted  brand, 
In  a  bold  determined  hand, 
And  the  Prince  of  all  the  land 
Led  them  on. — 

II. 

Like  leviathans  afloat, 
Lay  their  bulwarks  on  the  brine ; 
While  the  sign  of  battle  flew 
On  the  lofty  British  line : 
It  was  ten  of  April  morn  by  the  chime. 
As  they  drifted  on  their  path, 
There  was  silence  deep  as  death  ; 
And  the  boldest  held  his  breath, 
For  a  time. — 

HI. 

But  the  might  of  England  flushed 
To  anticipate  the  scene  ; 
And  her  van  the  fleeter  rushed 
O'er  the  deadly  space  between. 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  107 

"Hearts  of  oak,"  our  captains  cried;  when  each  gun 

From  its  adamantine  lips 

Spread  a  death-shade  round  the  ships, 

Like  the  hurricane  eclipse 

Of  the  sun.— 

IV. 

Again !  again  !  again  ! 
And  the  havoc  did  not  slack, 
Till  a  feeble  cheer  the  Dane 
To  our  cheering  sent  us  back; — • 
Their  shots  along  the  deep  slowly  boom : — 
Then  ceased — and  all  is  wail, 
As  they  strike  the  shattered  sail; 
Or,  in  conflagration  pale, 
Light  the  gloom. — 

V. 

Outspoke  the  victor  then, 
As  he  hailed  them  o'er  the  wave, 
"  Ye  are  brothers  !  ye  are  men  ! 
And  we  con  }uer  but  to  save : — 
So  peace  instead  of  death  let  us  bring- 
But  yield,  proud  foe,  thy  fleet, 
With  the  crews,  at  England's  feet. 
And  make  submission  meet 
To  our  king." 

VI. 

Then  Denmark  blest  our  chief, 
That  he  gave  her  wounds  repose ; 
And  the  sounds  of  joy,  and  grief, 
From  her  people  wildly  rose  ; 
As  death  withdrew  his  shades  from  the  day. 
While  the  sun  looked  smiling  bright 
O'er  a  wide  and  woful  sight, 
Where  the  fires  of  fufteral  light 
Died  away. — 


108  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

PL 

Now  joy,  old  England,  raise ! 
For  tne  tidings  of  thy  might, 
By  the  festal  cities'  blaze. 
While  the  wine  cup  shines  in  light ; 
And  yet  amidst  that  joy  and  uproar, 
Let  us  think  of  them  that  sleep, 
Full  many  a  fathom  deep, 
By  thy  wild  and  stormy  steep, 
Elsinore  !— 

VIII. 

Brave  hearts  !  to  Britain's  pride 

Once  so  faithful  and  so  true, 

On  the  deck  of  fame  that  died, 

With  the  gallant  good  Riou  :* 

Soft  sigh  the  winds  of  heaven  o'er  their  grave  I 

While  the  billow  mournful  rolls, 

And  the  mermaid's  song  condoles 

Singing  glory  to  the  souls 

Of  the  brave  !— 


LORD  ULLIN'S  DAUGHTER. 

A  CHIEFTAIN  to  the  Highlands  bound, 

Cries,  "  Boatmen,  do  not  tarry  t 
And  I'll  give  thee  a  silver  pound, 

To  row  us  o'er  the  ferry." — 

*  Captain  Riou,  justly  entitled  the  gallant  and  the  good,    by  Lord 
Nelson,  when  he  wrote  home  his  despatches. 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  109 

"  Now  who  be  ye,  would  cross  Lochgyle, 

This  dark  and  stormy  water  t" — 
"Oh  Fm  the  chief  Of  Ulva's  isle, 

And  this  Lord  Ullin's  daughter. — 

"  And  fast  before  her  father's  men 

Three  days  we've  fled  together, 
For  should  he  find  us  in  the  glen, 

My  blood  would  stain  the  heather. 

"  His  horsemen  hard  behind  us  ride  ; 

Should  they  our  steps  discover, 
Then  who  will  cheer  my  bonny  bride 

When  they  have  slain  her  lover  ?" 

Outspoke  the  hardy  Highland  wight, 

"  I'll  go,  my  chief — I'm  ready  : — 
It  is  not  for  your  silver  bright, 

But  for  your  winsome  lady : 

"  And  by  my  word !  the  bonny  bird 

In  danger  shall  not  tarry ; 
So,  though  the  waves  are  raging  white, 

I'll  row  you  o'er  the  ferry." 

By  this  the  storm  grew  loud  apace, 
The  water  wraith  was  shrieking  ;* 

And  in  the  scowl  of  heavVeach  face 
Grew  dark  as  they  were  speaking. 

But  still  as  wilder  blew  the  wind, 

And  as  the  night  grew  drearer, 
Adown  the  glen  rode  armed  men, 

Their  trampling  sounded  nearer. — 

*  The  evil  spirit  of  the  waters. 
K 


110  CAMPBELL'S  POEM&. 

"  0  haste  thee,  haste .!"  the  lady  cries, 
"  Though  tempests  round  us  gather  ; 

I'll  meet  the  raging  of  the  skies  : 
But  not  an  angry  father.' 

The  boat  has  left  a  stormy  land, 

A  stormy  sea  before  her, — 
When  oh  !  too  strong  for  human  hand, 

The  tempest  gathered  o'er  her. — 

And  still  they  rowed  amidst  the  roar 

Of  waters  fast  prevailing : 
Lord  Ullin  reached  that  fatal  shore, 

His  wrath  was  changed  to  wailing. — 

For  sore  dismayed,  through  storm  arid  shade 

His  child  he  did  discover : 
One  lovely  hand  she  stretched  for  aid, 

And  one  was  round  her  lover. 

"  Come  back !  come  back  !"  he  cried  in  grief, 

Across  this  stormy  water  : 
"  And  I'll  forgive  your  Highland  chief, 

My  daughter ! — oh  my  daughter !" — 

'Twas  vain :  the  loud  waves  lashed  the  shore, 

Return  or  aid  preventing : — 
The  waters  wild  went  o'er  his  child — 

And  he  was  left  lamenting. 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  Ill 


LINES 

ON    THE 

GRAVE  OF  A  SUICIDE. 

By  strangers  left  upon  a  lonely  shore, 

Unknown,  unhonoured,  was  the  friendless  dead : 

For  child  to  weep,  or  widow  to  deplore, 
There  never  came  to  his  unburied  head — 
All  from  his  dreary  habitation  fled. 

Nor  will  the  lanterned  fisherman  at  eve 
Launch  on  the  water  by  the  witches'  tow'r. 

Where  hellebore  and  hemlock  seem  to  weave 
Round  its  dark  vaults  a  melancholy  bow'r, 
For  spirits  of  the  dead  at  night's  enchanted  hour. 

They  dread  to  meet  thee,  poor  unfortunate ! 

Whose  crime  it  was,  on  life's  unfinished  road 
To  feel  the  stepdame  bufferings  of  fate, 

And  render  back  thy  being's  heavy  load. 

Ah !  once,  perhaps,  the  social  passions  glowed 
In  thy  devoted  bosom — and  the  hand 

That  smote  its  kindred  heart,  might  yet  be  prone 
To  deeds  of  mercy.    Who  may  understand 

Thy  many  woes,  poor  suicide,  unknown  ? — 

He  who  thy  being  gave  shall  judge  of  thee  alone. 


118 


ODE  TO  WINTER. 

WHEN  first  the  fiery-mantled  sun 
His  heavenly  race  began  to  run. 
Round  the  earth  and  ocean  blue, 
His  children  four  the  Seasons  flew. 

First,  in  green  apparel  dancing. 

The  young  Spring  smiled  with  angel  grace ; 
Rosy  Summer  next  advancing, 

Rushed  into  her  sire's  embrace  : 
Her  bright-haired  sire,  who  bade  her  keep 

For  ever  nearest  to  his  smiles, 
On  Calpe's  olive-shaded  steep, 

On  India's  citron-covered  isles  : 
More  remote  and  buxom -brown, 

The  Queen  of  vintage  bo  wed 'before  his  throne 
A  rich  pomegranate  gemmed  her  crown, 

A  ripe  sheaf  bound  her  zone. 
But  howling  Winter  fled  afar, 
To  hills  that  prop  the  polar  star, 
And  loves  on  deer  borne  car  to  ride, 
With  barren  darkness  by  his  side. 
Round  the  shore  where  loud  Lofoden 

AVhirls  to  death  the  roaring  whale, 
Round  the  hall  where  Runic  Odin 

Howls  his  war-song  to  the  gale  ; 
Save  when  adown  the  ravaged  globe 

He  travels  on  his  native  storm, 
Deflow'ring  nature's  grassy  robe, 

And  trampling  on  her  faded  form : — 
Till  light's  returning  lord  assume 

The  shaft  that  drives  him  to  his  polar  field, 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  113 

Of  power  to  pierce  his  raven  plume, 
And  crystal  covered  shield. 

Oh,  sire  of  storms !  whose  savage  ear 
The  Lapland  drum  delights  to  hear, 
When  Frenzy  with  her  bloodshot  eye 
Implores  thy  dreadful  deity. 
Archangel !  power  of  desolation  ! 

Fast  descending  as  thou  art, 
Say,  hath  mortal  invocation 

Spells  to  touch  thy  stony  heart? 
Then  sullen  Winter  hear  my  prayer, 
And  gently  rule  the  ruined  year  ; 
Nor  chill  the  wand'rer's  bosom  bare, 
Nor  freeze  the  wretch's  falling  tear  ; — 
To  shuddering  want's  unmantled  bed, 

Thy  horror-breathing  agues  cease  to  lend, 
And  gently  on  the  orphan  head 

Of  innocence  descend. — 
But  chiefly  spare,  O  king  of  clouds ! 
The  sailor  on  his  airy  shrouds : 
When  wrecks  and  beacons  strew  the  steep, 
And  spectres  walk  along  the  deep. 
Milder  yet  thy  snowy  breezes 

Pour  on  yonder  tented  shores, 
Where  the  Rhine's  broad  billow  freezes, 

Or  the  dark-brown  Danube  roars. 
Oh  winds  of  winter !  list  ye  there 

To  many  a  deep  and  dying  groan  ; 
Or  start,  ye  demons  of  the  midnight  air, 

At  shrieks  and  thunders  louder  than  your  own. 
Alas  !  ev'n  your  unhallowed  breath 

May  spare  the  victim,  fallen  low ; 
But  man  will  ask  no  truce  to  death, — 

No  bounds  to  human  wo.* 

*  This  ode  was  written  in  Germany,  at  the  close  of  1800,  before  the 
conclusion  of  hostilities. 

K* 


114  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 


THE  SOLDIER'S  DREAM. 

OUR  bugles  sang  truce — for  the  night-cloud  had  lowered 
And  the  sentinel  stars  set  their  watch  in  the  sky  ; 

And  thousands  had  sunk  on  the  ground  overpowered, 
The  weary  to  sleep,  and  the  wounded  to  die. 

When  reposing  that  night  on  my  pallet  of  straw, 
By  the  wolf-scaring  faggot  that  guarded  the  slain ; 

At  the  dead  of  the  night  a  sweet  vision  I  saw, 
And  thrice  ere  the  morning  I  dreamt  it  again. 

Methought  from  the  battle-field's  dreadful  array, 
Far,  far  I  had  roamed  on  a  desolate  track ; 

'Tvvas  autumn — and  sunshine  arose  on  the  way 

To  the  home  of  my  fathers,  that  welcomed  me  back. 

I  flew  to  the  pleasant  fields  traversed  so  oft 

In  life's  morning  march,  when  my  bosom  was  young ; 

I  heard  my  own  mountain-goats  bleating  aloft, 

And  knew  the  sweet  strain  that  the  corn-reapers  sung. 

Then  pledged  we  the  wine-cup,  and  fondly  I  swore 
From  my  home  and  my  weeping  friends  never  to  part; 

My  little  ones  kissed  me  a  thousand  times  o'er, 
And  my  wife  sobbed  aloud  in  her  fulness  of  heart. 

Stay,  stay  with  us — rest,  thou  art  weary  and  worn 
And  fain  was  their  war-broken  soldier  to  stay ; 

But  sorrow  returned  with  the  dawning  of  morn 
And  the  voice  in  my  dreaming  ear  melted  away. 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  115 


THE  TURKISH  LADY. 

3TwAS  the  hour  when  rites  unholy 
Called  each  Paynim  vbice^to  prayer, 

And  the  star  that  faded  slowly 
Left  to  dews  the  freshened  air. 

Day  her  sultry  fires  had  wasted, 
Calm  and  sweet  the  moonlight  rose  ; 

Ev'n  a  captive's  spirit  tasted 
Half  oblivion  of  his  woes. 

Then  'twas  from  an  Emir's  palace 
Came  an  eastern  lady  bright ; 

She,  in  spite  of  tyrants  jealous, 
Saw  and  loved  an  English  knight. 

*?  Tell  me,  captive,  why  in  anguish 
Foes  have  dragged  thee  here  to  dwell, 

Where  poor  Christians  as  they  languish 
Hear  no  sound  of  sabbath  bell  ?" — 

"  'Twas  on  Transylvania's  Bannat    * 
When  the  crescent  shone  afar, 

Like  a  pale  disastrous  planet 
O'er  the  purple  tide  of  war — 

"  In  that  day  of  desolation, 

Lady,  I  was  captive  made ; 
Bleeding  for  my  Christian  nation 

By  the  walls  of  high  Belgrade." 

"  Captive !  could  the  brightest  jewel 
From  my  turban  set  thee  free  ?" — 

"  Lady,  no  ! — the  gift  were  cruel, 
Ransomed,  yet  if  reft  of  thee. 


116 


"  Say,  fair  princess  !  would  it  grieve  thee 
Christian  climes  should  we  behold  ?" — 

"  Nay,  bold  knight !  I  would  not  leave  thee 
Were  thy  ransom  paid  in  gold  !" 

Now  in  heaven's  blue  expansion 
Rose  the  miclmght  star  to  view, 

When  to  quit  her  father's  mansion, 
Thrice  she  wept,  and  bade  adieu  ! 

"  Fly  we  then,  while  none  discover  ; 

Tyrant  barks,  in  vain  ye  ride !" 
Soon  at  Rhodes  the  British  lover 

Clasped  his  blooming  Eastern  bride. 


EXILE  OF  ERIN. 

THERE  came  to  the  beach  a  poor  Exile  of  Erin, 

The  dew  on  his  thin  robe  was  heavy  and  chill : 
For  his  country  he  sighed,  when  at  twilight  repairing 

To  wander  alone  by  the  wind  beaten  hill. 

But  the  daystar  attracted  his  eye's  sad  devotion, 

For  it  rose  o'er  his  own  native  isle  of  the  ocean, 

Where  once,  in  the  fire  of  his  youthful  emotion, 

He  sang  the  bold  anthem  of  Erin  go  bragh. 

Sad  is  my  fate !  said  the  heart-broken  stranger, 
The  wild  deer  and  wolf  to  a  covert  can  flee  ; 
But  I  have  no  refuge  from  famine  and  danger, 

A  home  and  a  country  remain  not  to  me. 
Never  again  in  the  green  sunny  bowers,  [hours, 

Where  my  forefathers  lived,  shall  I  spend  the  sweet 
Or  cover  my  harp  with  the  wild  woven  flowers, 
And  strike  to  the  numbers  of  Erin  go  bragh  ! 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  117 

Erin  my  country !  though  sad  and  forsaken, 
In  dreams  I  revisit  thy  seabeaten  shore ; 

But  alas !  in  a  fair  foreign  land  I  awaken, 

And  sigh  for  the  friends  who  can  meet  me  no  more ! 

Oh  cruel  fate !  will  thou  never  replace  me 

In  a  mansion  of  peace — where  no  perils  can  chase  me  ? 

Never  again,  shall  my  brothers  embrace  me  ? 
They  died  to  defend  me,  or  live  to  deplore  ! 

Where  is  my  cabin-door,  fast  by  the  wild  wood  ? 

Sisters  and  sire !  did  ye  weep  for  its  fall  ? 
Where  is  the  mother  that  looked  on  my  childhood? 

And  where  is  the  bosom  friend,  dearer  than  all  ? 
Oh  !  my  sad  heart !  long  abandoned  by  pleasure, 
Why  did  it  do  at  on  a  fast  fading  treasure ! 
Tears  like  the  rain  drop,  may  fall  without  measure ; 

But  rapture  and  beauty  they  cannot  recall. 

Yet  all  its  sad  recollection  suppressing, 
One  dying  wish  my  lone  bosom  can  draw, 

Erin  !  an  exile  bequeaths  thee  his  blessing  ! 
Land  of  my  forefathers  !  Erin  go  bragh ! 

Buried  and  cold,  when  my  heart  stills  her  motion, 

Green  be  thy  fields — sweetest  isle  of  the  ocean ! 

And  thy  harp  striking  bards  sing  aloud  with  devotion — 
Erin  mavournin  ! — Erin  go  bragh  !* 


LINES, 

Written  at  the  request  of  the  Highland  Society  in  Lon- 
don, when  met  to  commemorate  the  21st  of  March,  the 
day  of  victory  in  Egypt. 

PLEDGE  to  the  much  loved  land  that  gave  us  birth 
Invincible  romantic  Scotia's  shore  ! 

*  Ireland  ray  darling— Ireland  for  ever. 


118  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

Pledge  to  the  memory  of  her  parted  worth ! 
And  first  amid  the  brave,  remember  Moore  ! 

And  be  it  deemed  not  wrong  that  name  to  give, 
In  festive  hours,  which  prompts  the  patriot's  sigh  ! 

Who  would  not  envy  such  as  Moore  to  live  ? 
And  died  he  not  as  heroes  wish  to  die  ? 

Yes,  though  too  soon  attaining  glory's  goal, 
To  us  his  bright  career  too  short  was  giv'n ; 

Yet  in  a  mighty  cause  his  phoenix  soul 
Rose  on  the  flames  of  victory  to  Heav'n ! 

How  oft  (if  beats  in  subjugated  Spain 
One  patriot  heart)  in  secret  shall  it  mourn 

For  him ! — how  oft  on  fair  Corunna's  plain 
Shall  British  exiles  weep  upon  his  urn ! 

Peace  to  the  mighty  dead ! — our  bosom  thanks 
In  sprightlier  strains  they  living  may  inspire  I 

Joy  to  the  chiefs  that  lead  old  Scotia's  ranks, 
Of  Roman  garb  and  more  than  Roman  fire ! 

Triumphant  be  the  thistle  still  unfurled, 

Dear  symbol  wild !  on  freedom's  hills  it  grows, 

Where  Fingal  stemmed  the  tyrants  of  the  world, 
And  Roman  eagles  found  unconquered  foes. 

Joy  to  the  band*  this  day  on  Egypt's  coast 
Whose  valour  tamed  proud  France's  tricolor, 

And  wrenched  the  banner  from  her  bravest  host, 
Baptized  Invincible  in" Austria's  gore ! 

Joy  for  the  day  on  red  Vimeria's  strand, 

When  bayonet  to  bayonet  opposed 
First  of  Britannia's  hosts  her  Highland  band 

£ave  but  the  death  shot  once,  and  foremost  closed ! 

*  The  42d  Regiment 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  119 

Is  there  a  son  of  generous  England  here 
Or  fervid  Erin  ? — he  with  us  shall  join. 

To  pray  that  in  eternal  union  dear, 

The  rose,  the  shamrock,  and  the  thistle  twine ! 

Types  of  a  race  who  shall  the  invader  scorn, 
As  rocks  resist  the  billows  round  their  shore ; 

Types  of  a  race  who  shall  to  time  unborn 
Their  country  leave  unconquered  as  of  yore  ! 


LINES, 

WRITTEN  ON  VISITING  A  SCENE  IN  ARGYLESHIRE. 

AT  the  silence  of  twilight's  contemplative  hour, 

I  have  mused  in  a  sorrowful  mood, 
On  the  wind  shaken  weeds  that  embosom  the  bower, 

Where  thje  home  of  my  forefathers  stood.  f 

All  ruined  and  wild  is  their  roofless  abode, 

And  lonely  the  dark  raven's  sheltering  tree ; 
And  travelled  by  few  is  the  grass  covered  roau, 
Where  the  hunter  of  deer  and  the  warrior  trode 

To  his  hills  that  encircle  the  sea. 

Yet  wandering,  I  found  on  my  ruinous  walk, 

By  the  dial  stone  aged  and  green, 
One  rose  of  the  wilderness  left  on  its  stalk, 

To  mark  where  a  garden  had  been. 
Like  a  brotherless  hermit,  the  last  of  its  race, 

All  wild  in  the  silence  of  Nature,  it  drew, 
From  each  wandering  sunbeam,  a  lonely  embrace; 
For  the  night  weed  and  thorn  overshadowed  the  place, 

Where  the  flower  of  my  forefathers  grew. 


120  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

Sweet  bud  of  the  wilderness  !  emblem  of  all 

That  remains  in  this  desolate  heart ! 
The  fabric  of  bliss  to  its  centre  may  fall ; 

But  patience  shall  never  depart ! 
Though  the  wilds  of  enchantment,  all  vernal  ana  bright, 

In  the  days  of  delusion  by  fancy  combined, 
With  the  vanishing  phantoms  of  love  and  delight. 
Abandon  my  soul  like  a  dream  of  the  night, 

And  leave  but  a  desert  behind. 

Be  hushed,  my  dark  spirit !  for  wisdom  condemns 

When  the  faint  and  the  feeble  deplore  ; 
Be  strong  as  the  rock  of  the  ocean  that  stems 

A  thousand  wild  waves  on  the  shore ! 
Through  the  perils  of  chance,  and  the  scowl  of  disdain, 

May  thy  front  be  unaltered,  thy  courage  elate  ! 
Yea  !  even  the  name  I  have  worshipped  in  vain 
Shall  awake  not  the  sigh  of  remembrance  again  ; 

To  bear  is  to  conquer  our  fate. 


PATRIOTIC  STANZAS, 

Composed  and  recited  at  a  meeting  of  North  Britons,  in 
London,  on  Monday,  the  Sth  of  August,  1303. 

OUR  bosoms  we'll  bare  to  the  glorious  strife, 

And  our  oath  is  recorded  on  high, 
To  prevail  in  the  Cause  that  is  dearer  than  life, 

Or,  crushed  in  its  ruins  to  die.     • 
Then  rise,  fellow  freemen,  and  stretch  the  right-hand, 
And  swear  to  prevail  in  your  dear  native  land. 

5Tis  the  home  we  hold  sacred  is  laid  to  our  trust. 
God  bless  the  green  Isle  of  the  brave ! 


Should  a  conqueror  tread  on  our  forefathers'  dust, 
It  would  raise  the  old  dead  from  the^r  grave. 
Then  rise,  &c. 

In  a  Briton's  sweet  home  shall  a  spoiler  abide, 
Profaning  its  loves  and  its  charms  ? 

Shall  a  Frenchman  insult  a  loved  fair  at  our  side  ? 
To  arms — 0  my  Country,  to  arms  ! — 
Then  rise,  &c. 

Shall  tyrants  enslave  us,  my  countrymen  ? — No — 
Their  heads  to  the  sword  shall  be  given ; 

Let  a  death -bed  repentance  await  the  proud  foe 
And  his  blood  be  an  offering  to  Heaven ! 
Then  rise,  &c. 


CAROLINE. 

PART  I. 

I'LL  bid  my  hyacinth  to  blow, 
I'll  teach  my  grotto  gre^n  to  be ; 

And  sing  my  true  love,  all  below 
The  holly  bower  and  myrtle  tree. 

There,  all  his  wild-wood  scents  to  bring, 
The  sweet  South  Wind  shall  wander  by ; 

And  with  the  music  of  his  wing, 
Delight  my  rustling  canopy. 

Come  to  my  close  and  clustering  bower, 
Thou  spirit  of  a  milder  clime  ! 

Fresh  with  the  dews  of  fruit  and  flower, 
Of  mountain  heath  and  moory  thyme. 


122  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

With  all  thy  rural  echoes  come, 
Sweet  comrade  of  the  rosy  day, 

Wafting  the  wild  bee's  gentle  hum, 
Or  cuckoo's  plaintive  roundelay. 

Where'er  thy  morning  breath  has  played. 
Whatever  isles  of  ocean  fanned, 

Come  to  my  blossom  woven  shade, 
Thou  wandering  wind  of  fairy  land ! 

For  sure  from  some  enchanted  isle, 
Where  Heav'n  and  love  their  sabbath  hold, 

Where  pure  and  happy  spirits  smile, 
Of  beauty's  fairest,  brightest  mould : 

From  some  green  Eden  of  the  deep, 
Where  pleasure's  sigh  alone  is  heaved, 

Where  tears  of  rapture  lovers  weep, 
Endeared,  undoubting,  undeceived ; 

From  some  sweet  paradise  afar, 
Thy  music  wanders,  distant,  lost ; 

Where  nature  lights  her  leading  star, 
And  love  is  never,  never  crossed. 

Oh !  gentle  gale  of  Eden  bowers, 
If  back  thy  rosy  feet  should  roam, 

To  revel  with  the  cloudless  hours, 
In  nature's  more  propitious  home — 

Name  to  thy  loved  Elysian  groves, 
That  o'er  enchanted  spirits  twine, 

A  fairer  form  than  cherub  loves, 
And  let  the  name  be  Caroline. 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 


CAROLINE. 

PART  II. 

GEM  of  the  crimson  coloured  even, 

Companion  of  retiring  day, 
Why  at  the  closing  gates  of  heaven, 

Beloved  star,  dost  thou  delay  ? 

So  fair  thy  pensile  beauty  burns, 
When  soft  the  tear  of  twilight  flows, 

So  due  thy  plighted  step  returns, 

To  chambers  brighter  than  the  rose  ; 

To  peace,  to  pleasure,  and  to  love 
So  kind  a  star  thou  seem'st  to  be, 

Sure  some  enamoured  orb  above 
Descends  and  burns  to  meet  with  theex. 

Thine  is  the  breathing,  blushing  hour, 
When  all  unheavenly  passions  fly  ; 

Chased  by  the  soul  subduing  power 
Of  love's  delicious  witchery. 

Oh !  sacred  to  the  fall  of  day, 

Queen  of  propitious  stars,  appear ! 

And  early  rise,  and  long  delay, 
When  Caroline  herself  is  here 

Shine  on  her  chc\sen  green  resort, 

Where  trees  the  sunward  summit  crown  ; 

And  wanton  flowers,  that  well  may  court 
An  angel's  feet  to  tread  them  down. 

Shine  on  her  sweetly  scented  road, 
Thou  star  of  evening's  purple  dome ! 

That  lead'st  the  nightingale  abroad, 
And  guid'st  the  pilgrim  to  his  home. 


124  CAMPBELL'S    POEMS. 

Shine,  where  my  charmer's  sweeter  breath 
Embalms  thy  soft  exhaling  dew ; 

Where  dying  winds  a  sigh  bequeath 
To  kiss  her  cheek  of  rosy  hue. 

Where,  winnowed  by  the  gentle  air, 
Her  silken  tresses  darkly  flow, 

And  fall  upon  her  brows  so  fair, 

Like  shadows  on  the  mountain  snow. 

Thus,  ever  thus,  at  day's  decline 
In  converse  sweet  to  wander  far, 

Oh !  bring  with  thee  my  Caroline, 
And  thou  shalt  be  my  ruling  star ! 


ODE 


MEMORY  OF  BURNS. 

SOUL  of  the  Poet !  wheresoe'er 
Reclaimed  from  earth  thy  genius  plume 

Her  wings  of  immortality ; 
Suspend  thy  harp  in  happier  spnere, 
And  with  thine  influence  illume 

The  gladness  of  our  jubilee. 

And  fly  like  fiends  from  secret  spell. 
Discord  and  strife,  at  Burns's  name, 

Exorcised  by  his  memory ; 
For  he  was  chief  of  bards  that  swell 
The  heart  with  songs  of  social  flame, 

And  high  delicious  revelry. 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS  125 

And  Love's  own  strain  to  him  was  giv'n 
To  warble  all  its  ecstasies, 

With  Pythian  words  unsought,  unwilled, 
Love  the  surviving  gift  of  Heaven, 
The  choicest  sweet  of  Paradise 

In  life's  else  bitter  cup  distilled. 

Who  that  has  melted  o'er  his  lay 
To  Mary's  soul  in  Heav'n  above, 

But  pictured  sees  in  fancy  strong, 
The  landscape  and  the  livelong  day 
That  smiled  upon  their  mutual  love, — 

Who  that  has  felt  forgets  the  song? 

Nor  skilled  one  flame  alone  to  fan — 
His  country's  high  souled  peasantry 

What  patriot  pride  he  taught ! — how  much 
To  weigh  the  inborn  worth  of  man ! 
And  rustic  life  and  poverty 

Grow  beautiful  beneath  his  touch. 

Him  in  his  clay-built  cot*  the  muse 
Entranced  and  showed  him  all  the  forms 

Of  fairy-light  and  wizard  gloom, 
(That  only  gifted  Poet  view,) 
The  Genii  of  the  floods  and  storms, 
*      And  martial  shades  from  glory's  tomb. 

On  Bannock  field  what  thoughts  arouse 
The  Swain  whom  Burns9 s  song  inspires  ? 

Beat  not  his  Caledonian  veins, 
As  o'er  the  heroic  turf  he  ploughs, 
With  all  the  spirit  of  his  sires, 

And  all  their  scorn  of  death  and  chains  ? 

*  Burns  was  bom  in  a  Clay  cottage,  which  his  father  had  built  with 
bis  own  hands. 

L» 


126  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

And  see  the  Scottish  exile  tanned, 
By  many  a  far  and  foreign  clime, 

Bend  o'er  his  homeborn  verse  and  weep, 
In  memory  of  his  native  land, 
With  love  that  scorns  the  lapse  of  time, 

And  ties  that  stretch  beyond  the  deep. 

Encamped  by  Indian  rivers  wild 
The  soldier  resting  on  his  arms, 

In  Burns's  carrol  sweet  recalls 
The  scenes  that  blest  him  when  a  child, 
And  glows  and  gladdens  at  the  charms 

Of  Scotia's  woods  and  waterfalls. 

O  deem  not  midst  this  worldly  strife, 
An  idle  art  the  poet  brings, 

Let  high  Philosophy  control 
And  sages  calm  the  stream  of  life, 
'Tis  he  refines  its  fountain  springs, 

The  nobler  passions  of  the  soul. 

It  is  the  muse  that  consecrates 
The  native  banner  of  the  brave, 

Unfurling  at  the  trumpet's  breath, 
Rose,  thistle,  harp  ;  'tis  she  elates 
To  sweep  the  field  or  ride  the  wave, 

A  sunburst  in  the  storm  of  death. 

And  thou,  young  hero,  when  thy  pall 

Is  crossed  with  mournful  sword  and  plume, 

When  public  grief  begins  to  fade, 
And  only  tears  of  kindred  fall, 
Who  but  the  Bard  shall  dress  thy  tomb, 

And  greet  with  fame  thy  gallant  shade  ? 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  127 

Such  was  the  soldier, — Burns  forgive 
That  sorrows  of  mine  own  intrude, 

In  strains  to  thy  great  memory  due. 
In  verse  like  thine,  Oh !  could  he  live, 
The  friend  I  mourned — the  brave,  the  good — » 

Edward  that  died  at  Waterloo  !* 

Farewell,  high  chief  of  Scottish  song, 
That  could'st  alternately  impart 

Wisdom  and  rapture  in  thy  page, 
And  brand  each  vice  with  satire  strong, 
Whose  lines  are  mottoes  of  the  heart, 

Whose  truths  electrify  the  sage. 

Farewell,  and  ne'er  may  envy  dare 
To  ring  one  baleful  poison  drop 

From  the  crushed  laurels  of  thy  bust 
But  while  the  lark  sings  sweet  in  air 
Still  may  lljp  grateful  pilgrim  stop, 

To  bless  the  spot  that  holds  thy  dust. 

*  Major  Edward  Hodge,  of  the  7th  Hussars,  who  fell  at  the  head  of 
Iws  squadron  in  the  attack  of  the  Polish  Lancers. 


THEODRIC; 


DOMESTIC  TALE. 

'TWAS  sunset,  and  the  Ranz  des  Vaches  was  sung. 
And  lights  were  o'er  the  Helvetian  mountains  flung, 
That  gave  the  glacier  tops  their  richest  glow, 
And  tinged  the  lakes  like  molten  gold  below. 
Warmth  flushed  the  wonted  regions  of  the  storm, 
Where,  Phoenix-like,  you  saw  the  eagle's  form, 
That  high  in  Heav'n's  vermilion  wheeled  and  soared. 
Woods  nearer  frowned,  and  cataracts  dashed  and  roared, 
From  heights  brouzed  by  the  bounding  bouquetin ; 
Herds  tinkling  roamed  the  long-drawn  vales  between, 
And  hamlets  glittered  white,  and  gardens  flourished 
'Twas  transport  to  inhale  the  bright  sweet  air !  [green 
The  mountain-bee  was  revelling  in  its  glare, 
And  roving  with  his  minstrelsy  across 
The  scented  wild  weeds,  and  enamelled  moss. 
Earth's  features  so  harmoniously  were  link'd, 
She  seemed  one  great  glad  form,  with  life  instinct, 
That  felt  Heav'n's  ardent  breath,  and  smiled  below 
ts  flush  of  love,  with  consentaneous  glow. 

A  Gothic  church  was  near ;  the  spot  around 
Was  beautiful,  even  though  sepulchral  ground ; 
For  there  nor  yew  nor  cypress  spread  their  gloom, 
put  roses  blossomed  by  each  rustic  tomb. 
Amidst  them  one  of  spotless  marble  shone — 
A  maiden's  grave — and  'twas  inscribed  thereon. 


129 

That  young  and  loved  she  died  whose  dust  was  there : 
"  Yes,"  said  my  comrade,  "  young  she  died,  and  fair ! 
Grace  formed  her,  and  the  soul  of-  gladness  played 
Once  in  the  blue  eyes  of  that  mountain-maid  : 
Her  fingers  witched  the  chords  they  passed  along, 
And  her  lips  seemed  to  kiss  the  soul  in  song  : 
Yet  wooed,  and  worshipped  as  she  was,  till  few 
Aspired  to  hope,  'twas  sadly,  strangely  true, 
That  heart,  the  martyr  of  its  fondness  burned 
And  died  of  love  that  could  not  be  returned. 

Her  father  dwelt  where  yonder  Castle  shines 
O'er  clust'ring  trees  and  terrace-mantling  vines. 
As  gay  as  ever,  the  laburnum's  pride 
Waves  o'er  each  walk  where  she  was  wont  to  glide, — 
And  still  the  garden  whence  she  graced  her  brow, 
As  lovely  blooms,  though  trode  by  strangers  now. 
How  oft  from  yonder  window  o'er  the  lake, 
Her  song  of  wild  Helvetian  swell  and  shake, 
Has  made  the  rudest  fisher  bend  his  ear, 
And  rest  enchanted  on  his  oar  to  hear ! 
Thus  bright,  accomplished,  spirited,  and  bland, 
Well-born,  and  wealthy  for  that  simple  land, 
Why  had  no  gallant  native  youth  the  art 
To  win  so  warm — so  exquisite  a  heart  ? 
She,  midst  these  rocks  inspired  with  feelings  strong 
By  mountain-freedom — music — fancy — song, 
Herself  descended  from  the  brave  in  arms, 
And  conscious  of  romance-inspiring  charms, 
Dreamt  of  heroic  beings ;  hoped  to  find 
Some  extant  spirit  of  chivalric  kind ;  t 

And  scorning  wealth,  looked  cold  e'en  on  the  claim 
Of  manly  worth,  that  lacked  the  wreath  of  fame. 

Her  younger  brother,  sixteen  summers  old, 
And  much  her  likeness  both  in  mind  and  mould* 


130  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

Had  gone,  poor  boy  !  in  soldiership  to  shine, 

And  bore  an  Austrian  banner  on  the  Rhine. 

3Twas  when,  alas  !  our  empire's  evil  star 

Shed  all  the  plagues,  without  the  pride  of  war; 

When  patriots  bled,  and  bitterer  anguish  crossed 

Our  brave,  to  die  in  battles  foully  lost. 

The  youth  wrote  home  the  rout  of  many  a  day ; 

Yet  still  he  said,  and  still  with  truth  could  say, 

One  corps  had  ever  made  a  valiant  stand, — 

The  corps  in  which  he  served, — Theodric's  band 

His  fame,  forgotten  chief,  is  now  gone  by, 

Eclipsed  by  brighter  orbs  in  glory's  sky ; 

Yet  once  it  shone,  and  veterans,  when  they  show 

Our  fields  of  battle  twenty  years  ago, 

Will  tell  you  feats  his  small  brigade  performed, 

In  charges  nobly  faced  and  trenches  stormed. 

Time  was,  when  songs  were  chanted  to  his  fame, 

And  soldiers  loved  the  march  that  bore  his  name ; 

The  zeal  of  martial  hearts  was  at  his  call, 

And  that  Helvetian,  Udolph's,  most  of  all. 

3Twas  touching,  when  the  storm  of  war  blew  wild, 

To  see  a  blooming  boy, — almost  a  child, — 

Spur  fearless  at  his  leader's  words  and  signs, 

Brave  death  in  reconnoitring  hostile  lines, 

And  speed  each  task,  and  tell  each  message  clear, 

In  scenes  where  war-trained  men  were  stunned  with  fear. 

Theodric  praised  him,  and  they  wept  for  joy 
In  yonder  house, — when  letters  from  the  boy 
Thanked  Heav'n  for  life,  and  more,  to  use  his  phrase, 
Than  twenty  lives — his  own  commander's  praise. 
Then  followed  glowing  pages,  blazoning  forth 
The  fancied  image  of  his  leader's  worth, 
With  such  hyperboles  of  youthful  style 
As  made  his  parents  dry  their  tears  and  smile : 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  131 

"But  differently  far  his  words  impressed 

A  wond'ring  sister's  well-believing  breast ; — 

She  caught  th'  illusion,  blest  Theodric's  name, 

And  wildly  magnified  his  worth  and  fame ; 

Rejoicing  life's  reality  contained 

One,  heretofore,  her  fancy  had  but  feigned, 

Whose  love  could  make  her  proud ;  and  time  and  chance 

To  passion  raised  that  day-dream  of  Romance. 

Once,  when  with  hasty  charge  of  horse  and  man 
Our  arriere  guard  had  checked  the  Gallic  van, 
Theodric,  visiting  the  outposts,  found 
His  Udolph  wounded,  weltering  on  the  ground : — 
Sore  crushed, — half-swooning,  half-upraised  he  lay, 
And  bent  his  brow,  fair  boy  !  and  grasped  the  clay. 
His  fate  moved  e'en  the  common  soldier's  ruth — 
Theodric  succoured  him  ;  nor  left  the  youth 
To  vulgar  hands,  but  brought  him  to  his  tent, 
And  lent  what  aid  a  brother  would  have  lent.] 

Meanwhile,  to  save  his  kindred  half  the  smart 
The  war-gazette's  dread  blood-roll  might  impart, 
He  wrote  th3  event  to  them  ;  and  soon  could  tell 
Of  pains  assuaged  and  symptoms  auguring  well ; 
And  last  of  all,  prognosticating  cure, 
Enclosed  the  leech's  .vouching  signature. 

Their  answers,  on  wnose  pages  you  might  note 
That  tears  had  fallen,  whilst  trembling  fingers  wrote 
Gave  boundless  thanks  for  benefits  conferred, 
Of  which  the  boy,  in  secret,  sent  them  word, 
Whose  memory  Time,  they  said,  would  never  blot; 
But  which  the  giver  had  himself  forgot. 

In  time  the  stripling,  vigorous  and  healed, 
Resumed  his  barb  and  banner  in  the  field, 


132 

And  bore  himself  right  soldier-like,  till  now 

The  third  campaign  had  manlier  bronzed  his  brow  ; 

When  peace,  though  but  a  scanty  pause  for  breath, — 

A  curtain-drop  between  the  acts  of  death, — 

A  check  in  frantic  war's  unfinished  game, 

Yet  dearly  bought,  and  direly  welcome,  came. 

The  camp  broke  up,  and  Udolph  left  his  chief 

As  with  a  son's  or  younger  brother's  grief : 

But  journeying  home ,  how  rapt  his  spirits  rose ! 

How  light  his  footsteps  crushed  St.  Gothard's  snows ! 

How  dear  seemed  ev'n  the  waste  and  wild  Shreckhorn, 

Though  wrapt  in  clouds,  and  frowning  as  in  scorn 

Upon  a  downward  world  of  pastoral  charms ; 

Where,  by  the  very  smell  of  dairy-farms, 

And  fragrance  from  the  mountain-herbage  blown, 

Blindfold  his  native  hills  he  could  have  known  ! 

His  coming  down  yon  lake, — his  boat  in  view 
Of  windows  where  love's  fluttering  kerchief  flew, — 
The  arms  spread  out  for  him — the  tears  that  burst, — 
('Twas  Julia's,  'twas  his  sister's  met  him  first !) 
Their  pride  to  see  war's  medal  at  his  breast, 
And  all  their  rapture's  greeting,  may  be  guessed. 

Ere  long,  his  bosom  triumphed  to  unfold 
A  gift  he  meant  their  gayest  room  to  hold, — 
The  picture  of  a  friend  in  warlike  dress ; 
And  who  it  was  he  first  bade  Julia  guess. 
"  Yes,"  she  replied,  "  'twas  he  methought  in  sleep, 
When  3rou  were  wounded,  told  me  not  to  weep." 
The  painting  long  in  that  sweet  mansion  drew 
Regards  its  living  semblance  little  knew. 

Meanwhile  Theodric,  who  had  years  before 
Learnt  England's  tongue,  and  loved  her  classic  lore, 
A  glad  enthusiast  now  explored  the  land, 
Where  Nature,  Freedom,  Art,  smile  hand  in  hand : 


133 

Her  women  fair ;  her  men  robust  for  toil ; 
Her  vigorous  souls,  high-cultured  as  her  soil ; 
Her  towns,  where  civic  independence  flings 
The  gauntlet  down  to  senates,  courts,  and  kings ; 
Her  works  of  art,  resembling  magic's  powers ; 
Her  mighty  fleets,  and  learning's  beauteous  bowers, — 
These  he  had  visited,  with  wonder's  smile. 
And  scarce  endured  to  quit  so  fair  an  isle. 
But  how  our  fates  from  unmomentous  things 
May  rise,  like  rivers  out  of  little  springs  ! 
A  trivial  chance  postponed  his  parting  day, 
And  public  tidings  caused,  in  that  delay, 
An  English  jubilee.     'Twas  a  glorious  sight ; 
At  eve  stupendous  London,  clad  in  light, 
Poured  out  triumphant  multitudes  to  gaze ; 
Youth,  age,  wealth,  penury,  smiling  in  the  blaze : 
Th'  illumined  atmosphere  was  warm  and  bland, 
And  Beauty's  groups,  the  fairest  of  the  land, 
Conspicuous,  as  in  som^  wide  festive  room, 
In  open  chariots  passed  with  pearl  and  plume. 
Amidst  them  he  remarked  a  lovelier  mien 
THan  e'er  his  thoughts  had  shaped,  or  eyes  had  seen: 
The  throng  detained  her  till  he  reined  his  steed, 
And,  ere  the  beauty  passed,  had  time  to  read 
The  motto  and  the  arms  her  carriage  bore. 
Led  by  that  clue,  he  left  not  England's  shore 
Till  he  had  known  her :  and  to  know  her  well 
Prolonged,  exalted,  bound  enchantment's  spell ; 
For  with  affections  warm,  intense,  refined, 
She  mixed  such  calm  and  holy  strength  of  mind, 
That,  like  Heav'n's  image  in  the  smiling  brook, 
Celestial  peace  was  pictured  in  her  look. 
Her's  was  the  brow,  in  trials  unperplexed, 
That  cheered  the  sad  and  tranquillized  the  vexed : 
M 


134  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

She  studied  not  the  meanest  to  eclipse, 
And  yet  the  wisest  listened  to  her  lips  ; 
She  sang  not,  knew  not  Music's  magic  skill, 
But  yet  her  voice  had  tones  that  swayed  the  will. 
He  sought — he  won  her — and  resolved  to  make 
His  future  home  in  England  for  her  sake. 

Yet,  ere  they  wedded,  matters  of  concern 
To  C cesar's  Court  commanded  his  return, 
A  season's  space, — and  on  his  Alpine  way, 
He  reached  those  bowers,  that  rang  with  joy  that  day  : 
The  hoy  was  half  beside  himself, — the  sire, 
All  frankness,  honour,  and  Helvetian  fire, 
Of  speedy  parting  would  not  hear  him  speak ; 
And  tears  bedewed  and  brightened  Julia's  cheek. 

Thus,  loth  to  wound  their  hospitable  pride, 
A  month  he  promised  with  them  to  abide  ; 
As  blithe  he  trode  the  mountain-sward  as  they, 
And  felt  his  joy  make  ev'n  the  young  more  gay. 
How  jocund  was  their  breakfast  parlour  fanned 
By  yon  blue  water's  breath, — their  walks  how  bland  ! 
Fair  Julia  seemed  her  brother's  softened  sprite — 
A  gem  reflecting  Nature's  purest  light, — 
And  with  her  graceful  wit  there  was  inwrought 
A  wildly  sweet  unworldiness  of  thought, 
That  almost  childlike  to  his  kindness  drew, 
And  twin  with  Udolph  in  his  friendship  grew. 
But  did  his  thoughts  to  love  one  moment  range  ? — 
No  !  he  who  had  loved  Constance  could  not  change ! 
Besides,  till  grief  betrayed  her  undesigned, 
The  unlikely  thought  could  scarcely  reach  his  mind, 
That  eyes  so  young  on  years  like  his  should  beam 
Unwooed  devotion  back  for  pure  esteem. 

True  she  sang  to  his  very  soul  and  brought 
Those  trains  before  him  of  luxuriant  thought, 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  135 

AVhich  only  Music's  Heav'n-born  art  can  bring, 
To  sweep  across  the  mind  with  angel  wing, 
Once,  as  he  smiled  amidst  that  waking  trance, 
She  paused  o'ercome :  he  thought  it  might  be  chance, 
And,  when  his  first  suspicions  dimly  stole, 
Rebuked  them  back  like  phantoms  from  his  soul. 
But  when  he  saw  his  caution  gave  her  pain, 
And  kindness  brought  suspense's  rack  again, 
Faith,  honour,  friendship  bound  him  to  unmask 
Truths  which  her  timid  fondness  feared  to  ask. 

And  yet  with  gracefully  ingenuous  power 

Her  spirit  met  the  explanatory  hour ; — 

Even  conscious  beauty  brightened  in  her  eyes, 

That  told  she  knew  their  love  no  vulgar  prize ; 

And  pride3  like  that  of  one  more  woman-grown, 

Enlarged  her  mien,  enriched  her  voice's  tone. 

'Twas  then  she  struck  the  keys,  and  music  made 

That  mocked  all  skill  her  hand  had  e'er  displayed :    . 

Inspired  and  warbling,  rapt  from  things  around, 

She  looked  the  very  Muse  of  magic  sound, 

Painting  in  sound  the  forms  of  joy  and  wo, 

Until  the  mind's  eye  saw  them  melt  and  glow. 

Her  closing  strain  composed  and  calm  she  played, 

And  sang  no  words  to  give  its  pathos  aid  ; 

But  grief  seemed  ling'ring  in  its  lengthened  swell, 

And  like  so  many  tears  the  trickling  touches  fell. 

Of  Constance  then  she  heard  Theodric  speak, 

And  steadfast  smoothness  still  possessed  her  cheek ; 

But  when  he  told  her  how  he  oft  had  planned 

Of  old  a  journey  to  their  mountain-land, 

That  might  have  brought  him  hither  years  before, 

"  Ah!  then,"  she  cried,  "  you  knew  not  England's  shore ; 

And,  had  you  come, — and  wherefore  did  you  not  ?" 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  it  would  have  changed  our  lot  !3> 


136 

Then  burst  her  tears  through  pride's  restraining  bands, 

And  with  her  handkerchief,  and  both  her  hands. 

She  hid  her  face  and  wept. — Contrition  stung 

Theodric  for  the  tears  his  words  had  wrung. 

"  But  no,"  she  cried,  "  unsay  not  what  you've  said, 

Nor  grudge  one  prop  on  which  my  pride  is  stayed  ; 

To  think  I  could  have  merited  your  faith, 

Shall  be  my  solace  even  unto  death  !" 

"  Julia"  Theodoric  said,  with  purposed  look 

Of  firmness,  "  my  reply  deserved  rebuke  ; 

But  by  your  pure  and  sacred  peace  of  mind, 

And  by  the  dignity  of  womankind, 

Swear  that  when  I  am  gone  you'll  do  your  best 

To  chase  this  dream  of  fondness  from  your  breast." 

Th'  abrupt  appeal  electrified  her  thought ; — 
She  looked  to  Heaven,  as  if  its  aid  she  sought, 
Dried  hastily  the  tear-drops  from  her  cheek, 
And  signified  the  vow  she  could  not  speak. 

Ere  long  he  communed  with  her  mother  mild  : 
"  Alas  !"  she  said,  "  I  warned — conjured  my  child, 
And  grieved  for  this  affection  from  the  first, 
But  like  fatality  it  has  been  nursed  ; 
For  when  her  filled  eyes  on  your  picture  fixed, 
And  when  your  name  in  all  she  spoke  was  mixed, 
'Twas  hard  to  chide  an  over-grateful  mind ! 
Then  each  attempt  a  likelier  choice  to  find 
Made  only  fresh-rejected  suitors  grieve, 
And  Udolph's  pride — perhaps  her  own — believe 
That  could  she  meet,  she  might  enchant  ev'n  you. 
You  came. — I  augured  the  event,  'tis  true, 
But  how  was  Udolph's  mother  to  exclude 
The  guest  that  claimed  our  boundless  gratitude ! 
And  that  unconscious  you  had  cast  a  spell 
On  Julia's  peace,  my  pride  refused  to  tell, 


CAMPBELL  S    POEMS. 

Yet  in  my  child's  illusion  I  have  seen, 

Believe  me  well,  how  blameless  you  have  heen : 

Nor  can  it  cancel,  howsoe'er  it  end, 

Our  debt  of  friendship  to  our  boy's  best  friend." 

At  night  he  parted  with  the  aged  pair ; 

At  early  morn  rose  Julia  to  prepare 

The  last  repast  her  hands  for  him4should  make ; 

And  Udolph  to  convey  him  o'er  the  lake. 

The  parting  was  to  her  such  bitter  grief, 

That  of  her  own  accord  she  made  it  brief; 

But  ling'ring  at  her  window,  long  surveyed 

His  boat's  last  glimpses  melting  into  shade. 

Theodric  sped  to  Austria,  and  achieved 
His  journey's  object.     Much  was  he  relieved 
AVhen  Udolptis  letters  told  that  Julia's  mind 
Had  borne  his  loss  firm,  tranquil,  and  resigned. 
He  took  the  Rhenish  rout  to  England,  high 
Elate  with  hopes, — fulfilled  their  ecstasy, 
And  interchanged  with  Constance's  own  breath 
The  sweet  eternal  vows  that  bound  their  faith. 

To  paint  that  being  to  a  grovelling  mind 
Were  like  portraying  pictures  to  the  blind. 
'Twas  needful  even  infectiously  to  feel 
Her  temper's  fond  and  firm  and  gladsome  zeal, 
To  share  existence  with  her,  and  to  gain 
Sparks  from  her  love's  electrifying  chain, 
Of  that  pure  pride,  wThich  less'ning  to  her  breast 
Life's  ills,  gave  all  its  joys  a  treble  zest, 
Before  the  mind  completely  understood 
That  mighty  truth — how  happy  are  the  good ! — 

Ev'n  when  her  light  forsook  him,  it  bequeathed 
Ennobling  sorrow  ;  and  her  memory  breathed 
A  sweetness  that  survived  her  living  days 
As  od'rofcs  scents  outlast  the  censer's  blaze. 

M2     - 


131 


138  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

Or  if  a  trouble  dimmed  their  golden  joy, 
'Twas  outward  dross,  and  not  infused  alloy  : 
Their  home  knew  but  affection's  looks  and  speech — 
A  little  Heaven,  above  dissention's  reach. 
But  midst  her  kindred  there  was  strife  and  gall ; 
Save  one  congenial  sister,  they  were  all 
Such  foils  to  her  bright  intellect  and  grace, 
As  if  she  had  engrossed  the  virtue  of  her  race. 
Her  nature  strove  th'  unnatural  feuds  to  heal, 
Her  wisdom  made  the  weak  to  her  appeal ; 
And  though  the  wounds  she  cured  were  soon  unclosed, 
Unwearied  still  her  kindness  interposed. 

Oft  on  those  errands  though  she  went,  in  vain, 
And  home,  a  blank  without  her,  gave  him  pain ; 
He  bore  her  absence  for  its  pious  end. 
But  public  grief  his  spirit  came  to  bend ; 
For  war  laid  waste  his  native  land  once  more, 
And  German  honour  bled  at  every  pore. 
Oh !  were  he  there,  he  thought,  to  rally  back 
One  broken  band,  or  perish  in  the  wrack ! 
Nor  think  that  Constance  sought  to  move  or  melt 
His  purpose ;  like  herself  she  spoke  and  felt : — 
"  Your  fame  is  mine,  and  I  will  bear  all  wo 
Except  its  loss  ! — but  with  you  let  me  go 
To  arm  you  for,  to  embrace  you  from,  the  fight ; 
Harm  will  not  reach  me — hazards  will  delight !" 
He  knew  those  hazards  better ;  one  campaign 
In  England  he  conjured  her  to  remain, 
And  she  expressed  assent,  although  her  heart 
In  secret  had  resolved  they  should  not  part. 

How  oft  the  wisest  on  misfortune's  shelves 
Are  wrecked  by  errors  most  unlike  themselves ! 
That  little  fault,  that  fraud  of  love's  romance, 
Tliat  plan's  concealment,  wrought  their  whole  mischance* 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  139 

He  knew  it  not  preparing  to  embark, 

But  felt  extinct  his  comfort's  latest  spark, 

When,  'midst  those  numbered  days,  she  made  repair 

Again  to  kindred  worthless  of  her  care. 

'Tis  true  she  said  the  tidings  she  should  write 

Would  make  her  absence  on  his  heart  sit  light ; 

But,  haplessly,  revealed  not  yet  her  plan, 

And  left  him  in  his  home  a  lonely  man. 

Thus  damped  in  thoughts,  he  mused  upon  the  past : 
'Twas  long  since  he  had  heard  from  Udolph  last, 
And  deep  misgivings  on  his  spirit  fell, 
That  all  with  Udolph's  household  was  not  well. 
'Twas  that  too  true  prophetic  mood  of  fear 
That  augurs  griefs  inevitably  near, 
Yet  makes  them  not  less  startling  to  the  mind, 
When  come.     Least  looked-for  then  of  human  kind, 
His  Udolph  ('twas,  he  thought  at  first,  his  sprite) 
With  mournful  joy  that  morn  surprised  his  sight. 
How  changed  was  Udolph !  Scarce  Tlieodric  durst 
Inquire  his  tidings, — he  revealed  the  worst. 
"  At  first,"  he  said,  as  "  Julia  bade  me  tell, 
She  bore  her  fate  high-mindedly  and  well, 
Resolved  from  common  eyes  her  grief  to  hide,    • 
And  from  the  world's  compassion  saved  our  pride ; 
But  still  her  health  gave  way  to  secret  wo, 
And  long  she  pined — for  broken  hearts  die  slow  ! 
Her  reason  went,  but  came  returning,  like 

The  warning  of  her  death-hour soon  to  strike ; 

And  all  for  which  she  now,  poor  sufferer  !  sighs, 
Is  once  to  see  Theodric  ere  she  dies. 
Why  should  I  come  to  tell  you  this  caprice  ? 
Forgive  me !  for  my  mind  has  lost  its  peace, 
I  blame  myself,  and  ne'er  shall  cease  to  blame. 
That  my  insane  ambition  for  the  name. 


140  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

Of  brother  to  Theodric,  founded  all 

Those  high-built  hopes  that  crushed  her  by  their  fall. 

I  made  her  slight  a  mother's  counsel  sage, 

But  now  my  parents  droop  with  grief  and  age  ; 

And  though  my  sister's  eyes  mean  no  rebuke. 

They  overwhelm  me  with  their  dying  look. 

The  journey's  long,  but  you  are  full  of  ruth  ; 

And  she  who  shares  your  heart,  and  knows  its  truth, 

Has  faith  in  your  affection,  far  above 

The  fear  of  a  poor  dying  object's  love." — 

"  She  has,  my  Udolph"  he  replied,  "  'tis  true  ; 

And  oft  we  talk  of  Julia— oft  of  you." 

Their  converse  came  abruptly  to  a  close  ; 

For  scarce  could  each  his  troubled  looks  compose, 

When  visitants,  to  Constance  near  akin, 

(In  all  but  traits  of  soul)  were  ushered  in. 

They  brought  not  her,  nor  'midst  their  kindred  band 

The  sister  who  alone,  like  her,  was  bland ; 

But  said — and  smiled  to  see  it  give  him  pain — 

That  Constance  would  a  fortnight  yet  remain. 

Vexed  by  their  tidings,  and  the  haughty  view 

They  cast  on  Udolph  as  the  youth  withdrew, 

Theodric  blamed  his  Constance's  intent. — 

The  demons  went,  and  left  him  as  they  went, 

To  read,  when  they  were  gone  beyond  recall, 

A  note  from  her  loved  hand,  explaining  all. 

She  said,  that  with  their  house  she  only  staid 

That  parting  peace  might  with  them  all  be  made  ; 

But  prayed  for  love  to  share  his  foreign  life, 

And  shun  all  future  chance  of  kindred  strife. 

He  wrote  with  speed,  his  soul's  consent  to  say : 

The  letter  missed  her  on  her  homeward  way. 

In  six  hours  Constance  was  within  his  arms  : 

Moved,  flushed,  unlike  her  wonted  calm  of  charms, 

And  breathless — with  uplifted  hands  outspread — 

JBurst  into  tears  upon  his  neck,  and  said, — 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  141 

**  I  knew  that  those  who  brought  your  message  laughed 

With  poison  of  their  own  to  point  the  shaft ; 

And  this  my  one  kind  sister  thought,  yet  loath 

Confessed  she  feared  'twas  true  you  had  been  wroth. 

But  here  you  are,  and  smile  on  me  :  my  pain 

Is  gone,  and  Constance  is  herself  again." 

His  ecstasy,  it  may  be  guessed,  was  much. 

Yet  pain's  extreme  and  pleasure's  seemed  to  touch. 

What  pride  !  embracing  beauty's  perfect  mould ; 

What  terror !  lest  his  few  rash  words,  mistold, 

Had  agonized  her  pulse  to  fever's  heat ; 

But  calmed  again  so  soon  it  healthful  heat, 

And  such  sweet  tones  were  in  her  voice's  sound, 

Composed  herself,  she  breathed  composure  round. 

Fair  being !  with  what  sympathetic  grace 
She  heard,  bewailed,  and  pleaded  Juliets  case ; 
Implored  he  would  her  dying  wish  attend, 
"  And  go,"  she  said,  "  to-morrow  with  your  friend; 
I'll  wait  for  your  return  on  England's  shore, 
And  then  we'll  cross  the  deep  and  part  no  more." 

To-morrow  both  his  soul's  compassion  drew 
To  Julia's  call,  and  Constance  urged  anew 
That  not  to  heed  her  now  would  be  to  bind 
A  load  of  pain  for  life  upon  his  mind. 
He  went  with  Udolph — from  his  Constance  went— • 
Stifling,  alas  !  a  dark  presentiment 
Some  ailment  lurked,  ev'n  whilst  she  smiled,  tc  mook 
His  fears  of  harm  from  yester-morning's  shock. 
Meanwhile  a  faithful  page  he  singled  out, 
To  watch  at  home,  and  follow  straight  his  route, 
If  aught  of  threatened  change  her  health  should  show : 
—With  Udolph  then  he  reached  the  bouse  of  wo. 

That  winter's  eve  how  darkly  Nature's  brow 
Scowled  on  the  scenes  it  lights  so  lovely  now ! 


142  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

The  tempest,  raging  o'er  the  realms  of  ice, 
Shook  fragments  from  the  rifted  precipice  ; 
And  whilst  their  falling  echoed  to  the  wind, 
The  wolfs  long  howl  in  dismal  discord  joined, 
While  white  yon  water's  foam  was  raised  in  clouds 
That  whirled  like  spirits  wailing  in  their  shrouds ; 
Without  was  Nature's  elemental  din* — 
And  beauty  died,  and  friendship  wept  within 

\ 

Sweet  Julia,  though  her  fate  was  finished  half, 
Still  knew  him — smiled  on  him  with  feehle  laugh, 
And  blest  him,  till  she  drew  her  latest  sigh ! 
But  lo  !  while  Udolph's  bursts  of  agony, 
And  age's  tremulous  wailings,  round  him  rose, 
What  accents  pierced  him  deeper  yet  than  those  ! 
3Twas  tidings — by  his  English  messenger 
Of  Constance — brief  and  terrible  they  were. 
She  still  was  living  when  the  page  set  out 
From  home,  but  whether  now  was  left  in  doubt 
Poor  Julia  !  saw  he  then  thy  death's  relief— 
Stunned  into  stupor  more  than  wrung -with  grief? 
It  was  not  strange ;  for  in  the  human  breast 
Two  master-passions  cannot  coexist. 
And  that  alarm  which  now  usurped  his  brain 
Shut  out  not  only  peace,  but  other  pain. 
'Twas  fancying  Constance  underneath  the  shroud 
That  covered  Julia  made  him  first  weep  loud, 
And  tear  himself  away  from  them  that  wept. 
Fast  hurrying  homeward,  night  nor  day  he  slept, 
Till,  launched  at  sea,  he  dreamt  that  his  soul's  saint 
Clung  to  him  on  a  bridge  of  ice,  pale,  faint, 
O'er  cataracts  of  blocd.     Awake,  he  blessed 
The  shore ;  nor  hope  left  utterly  his  breast, 
Till  reaching  home,  terrific  omen  !  there 
The  straw-laid  street  preluded  his  despair — 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  143 

The  servants  look — the  table  that  revealed 
His  letter  sent  to  Constance  last,  still  sealed, 
Though  speech  and  hearing  left  him,  told  too  clear 
That  he  had  now  to  suffer — not  to  fear. 
He  felt  as  if  he  ne'er  should  cease  to  feel — 
A  wretch  live-broken  on  misfortune's  wheel :  [Heaven. 
Her  death's   cause — he  might  make  his  peace    with 
Absolved  from  guilt,  but  never  self-forgiven. 

The  ocean  has  its  ebbings — so  has  grief. 
'Twas  vent  to  ang'uish,  if  'twas  not  relief, 
To  lay  his  brow  even  on  her  death-cold  cheek. 
Then  first  he  heard  her  one  kind  sister  speak : 
She  bade  him,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  forbear 
With  self-reproach  to  deepen  his  despair : 
"  'Twas  blame,"  she  said,  "  I  shudder  to  relate, 
But  none  of  yours  that  caused  our  darling's  fate ; 
Her  mother  (must  I  call  her  such  ?)  foresaw, 
Should  Constance  leave  the  land,  she  would  withdraw 
Our  house's  charm  against  the  world's  neglect, 
The  only  gem  that  drew  it  some  respect. 
Hence,  when  you  went,  she  came  and  vainly  spoke 
To  change  her  purpose — grew  incensed,  and  broke 
With  execrations  from  her  kneeling  child. 
Start  not !  your  angel  from  her  knee  rose  mild, 
Feared  that  she  should  not  long  the  scene  outlive, 
Yet  bade  e'en  you  the  unnatural  one  forgive. 
Till  then  her  ailment  had  been  slight,  or  none  ; 
But  fast  she  drooped,  and  fatal  pains  came  on : 
Foreseeing  their  event,  she  dictated 
And  signed  these  words  for  you."     The  letter  said- 

"  Theodric,  this  is  destiny  above 
Our  power  to  baffle  ;  bear  it  then,  my  love  ! 
Rave  not  to  learn  the  usage  I  have  borne, 
For  one  true  sister  left  me  not  forlorn ; 


144  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS, 

And  though  you're  absent  in  another  land, 

Sent  from  hie  by  my  own  well-meant  command. 

Your  soul,  I  know,  as  firm  is  knit  to  mine 

As  these  clasped  hands  in  blessing  you  now  join  : 

Shape  not  imagined  horrors  in  my  fate — 

Even  now  my  sufferings  are  not  very  great ; 

And  when  your  grief's  first  transports  shall  subside, 

I  call  upon  your  strength  of  soul  and  pride 

To  pay  my  memory,  if  'tis  worth  the  debt, 

Love's  glorying  tribute — not  forlorn  regret : 

I  charge  my  name  with  power  to  conjure  up 

Reflection's  balmy,  not  its  bitter  cup. 

My  pard'ning  angel,  at  the  gates  of  Heaven, 

Shall  look  not  more  regard  than  you  have  given 

To  me ;  and  our  life's  union  has  been  clad 

In  smiles  of  bliss  as  sweet  as  life  e'er  had. 

Shall  gloom  be  from  such  bright  remembrance  cast  ? 

Shall  bitterness  outflow  from  sweetness  past  ? 

No  !  imaged  in  the  sanctuary  of  your  breast, 

There  let  me  smile,  amidst  high  thoughts  at  rest ; 

And  let  contentment  on  your  spirit  shine, 

As  if  its  peace  were  still  a  part  of  mine  : 

For  if  you  war  not  proudly  with  your  pain, 

For  you  I  shall  have  worse  than  lived  in  vain. 

But  I  conjure  your  manliness  to  bear 

My  loss  with  noble  spirit — not  despair : 

I  ask  you  by  your  love  to  promise  this, 

And  kiss  these  words  where  I  have  left  a  kiss, — 

The  latest  from  my  living  lips  for  yours." — 

Words  that  will  solace  him  while  life  endures : 
For  though  his  spirit  from  affliction's  surge 
Could  ne'er  to  life,  as  life  had  been,  emerge. 
Yet  still  that  mind  whose  harmony  elate 
Rang  sweetness,  ev'n  beneath  the  crush  of  fate, 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  145 

That  mind  in  whose  regard  all  things  were  placed 

In  views  that  softened  them,  or  lights  that  graced, — 

That  soul's  example  could  not  but  dispense 

A  portion  of  its  own  blessed  influence ; 

Invoking  him  to  peace,  and  that  self-sway 

Which  fortune  cannot  give,  nor  take  away : 

And  though  he  mourned  her  long,  ?twas  with  such  wo, 

As  if  her  spirit  watched  him  still  below. 


TO  THE  RAINBOW. 

TRIUMPHAL  arch,  ffiat  flill'st  the  sky 
When  storms  prepare  to  part, 

I  ask  not  proud  philosophy 
To  teach  me  what  thou  art — 

Stiil  seem  as  to  my  childhood's  sight, 

A  midway  station  given 
For  happy  spirits  to  alight 

Betwixt  the  earth  and  heaven. 

Can  all  that  optic  teach,  unfold 
Thy  form  to  please  me  so, 

As  when  I  dreamt  of  gems  and  gold 
Hid  in  thy  radiant  bow  ? 

When  Science  from  Creation's  face 
Enchantment's  veil  withdraws, 

What  lovely  visions  yield  their  place 
To  cold  material  laws  ! 
N 


146  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS 

And  yet,  fair  bow,  no  fabling  dreams, 
But  words  of  the  Most  High, 

Have  told  why  first  thy  robe  of  beams 
Was  woven  in  the  sky. 

When  o'er  the  green  undeluged  earth 
Heaven's  covenant  thou  didst  shine, 

How  came  the  world's  gray  fathers  forth 
To  watch  thy  sacred  sign. 

And  when  its  yellow  lustre  smiled 

O'er  mountains  yet  untrod, 
Each  mother  held  aloft  her  child 

To  bless  the  bow  of  God.       ,    /  ^ 

Methinks,  thy  jubilee  to  keep. 
The  first  made  anthem  rang 

On  earth  delivered  from  the  deep, 
And  the  first  poet  sang. 

Nor  ever  shall  the  Muse's  eye 
Unraptured  greet  thy  beam : 

Theme  of  primeval  prophecy, 
Be  still  the  poet's  theme ! 

The  earth  to  thee  her  incense  yields, 
The  lark  thy  welcome  sings, 

WThen  glittering  in  the  freshened  fields 
The  snowy  mushroom  springs. 

How  glorious  is  thy  girdle  cast 
O'er  mountain,  tower,  and  town, 

Or  mirrored  iri  the  ocean  vast, 
A  thousand  fathoms  down! 

As  fresh  in  yon  horizon  dark, 
As  young  thy  beauties  seem, 

As  when  the  eagle  from  the  ark, 
First  sported  in  thy  beam. 


I 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  147 

For,  faithful  to  its  sacred  page, 

Heaven  still  rebuilds  thy  span, 
Nor  lets  the  type  grow  pale  with  age 

That  first  spoke  peace  to  man. 


THE  BRAVE  ROLAND.* 

i  •* 

THE  brave  Roland  l^-the  brave  Roland ! — 
False  tidings  reached  the  Rhenish  strand 

That  he  £ad  fall'n  in  fight : 
And  thy  faithful  bosom  swooned  with  pain, 
O  loveliest  maiden  of  Allemayne  ! 

For  the  loss  of  thine  own  true  knight. 

But  why  so  rash  has  she  ta'en  the  veil. 
In  yon  Nonnenwerder's  cloisters  pale  ? 

For  her  vow  had  scarce  been  sworn, 
And  the  fatal  mantle  o'er  her  flung, 
When  the  Drachenfells  to  a  trumpet  rung, 

'Twas  her  own  dear  warrior's  horn  ! 

Wo  !  wo  !  each  heart  shall  bleed — shall  break ! 
She  would  have  hung  upon  his  neck, 

Had  he  come  but  j;  ester-even  ; 
And  he  had  clasped  those,  peerless  charms 
That  shall  never,  never  fill  his  arms. 

Or  meet  him  but  in  heaven. 

*  The  tradition  which  forms  the  substance  of  these  stanzas  is  still 
preserved  in  Germany.  An  ancient  tower  on  a  height,  called  the  Ro- 
landscck,  a  few  miles  above  Bonn  on  the  Rhine,  is  shown  as  the  habita- 
tion which  Roland  built  in  sight  of  a  nunnery,  into  which  his  mistress 
had  retired,  on  having  heard  an  unfounded  account  of  his  death. 
Whatever  may  be  thought  of  the  credibility  of  the  legend,  its  scenery 
must  be  recollected  with  pleasure  by  every  one  who  has  ever  visited  the 
romantic  landscape  of  the  Drachenfells,  the  Rolandseck,  and  the  beau 
tiful  adjacent  islet  of  the  Rhine,  where  a  nunnery  still  stands. 


14S  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

Yet  Roland  the  brave — Roland  the  true — 
He  could  not  bid  that  spof  adieu ; 

It  was  dear  still  'midst  nis  w  jes  ; 
For  he  loved  to  breathe  the  neighb'ring  air, 
And  to  think  she  blest  him  in  her  prayer. 

When  the  Halleluiah  rose. 

There's  yet  one  window  of  that  pile, 
Which  he  built  above  the  Nun's  green  Isle ; 

Thence  sad  and  oft  looked  he  4 

(When  the  chant  and  organ  sounded  slow) 
On  the  mansion  of  his  love  below, 

For  herself  he  might  not  see.     *» 

She  died ! — He  sought  the  battle-plain ; 
Her  image  filled  his  dying  brain, 

When  he  fell,  and  wished  to  fall ; 
And  her  name  was  in  his  latest  sigh, 
When  Roland,  the  flower  of  chivalry, 

Expired  at  Roncevail. 


THE  SPECTRE  BOAT. 

A  BALLAD. 

LIGHT  rued  false  Ferdinand,  to  leave  a  lovely  maid 

forlorn, 
Who  broke  her  heart  and  died  to  hide  her  blushing    ' 

cheek  from  scorn. 
One  night  he  dreamt  he  wooed  her  in  their  wonted 

bower  of  love, 
Where  the  flowers  sprang  thick  around  them,  and  the 

birds  sang  sweet  above. 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  149 

But  the  scene  was  swiftly  changed  into  a  church-yard's 

dismal  view, 
And  her  lips  grew  black  beneath  his  kiss,  from  love's 

delicious  hue. 
What  more  he  dreamt,  he  told  to  none  ;  but  shuddering, 

pale,  and  dumb, 
Looked  out  upon  the  waves,  like  one  that  knew  his  hour 

was  come. 
'Twas  now  the  dead  watch  of  the  night,  —  the  helm  was 

lashed  a-lee, 
And  the  ship  rode  where  Mount  JEtna  lights  the  deep 

Levantine  sea  ; 
When  beneath  its  glare  a  boat  came,  rowed  by  a  woman 

in  her  shroud, 
W'ho,  with  eyes  that  made  our  blood  run  cold,  stood  up 

and  spoke  aloud  : 
"Come,  Traitor,  down,  for  wrhom  my  ghost  still  wanders 

-    unforgiven  ! 
Come  down,  false  Ferdinand,  for  whom  I  broke  my 

peace  with  heaven  !"  — 
It  was  vain  to  hold  the  victim,  for  he  plunged  to  meet 

her  call,,  , 
Like  the  bird  that  shrieks  and  flutters  in  the  gazing 

serpent's  thrall. 
You  may  guess  the  boldest  mariner  shrunk  daunted 

from  the  sight, 
For  the  spectre  and  her  winding-sheet  shone  blue  with 

hideous  light  ; 
Like  a  fiery  wheel  ^ie  boat  spun  with  the  waving  of  her 

hand, 
And  round  they  went,  and  down  they  went,  as  the  cock 

crew  from  the  land. 


N  2 


150  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

SONG. 
TO  THE  EVENING  STAR. 

STAR  that  bringest  home  the  bee, 
And  sett'st  the  weary  labourer  free  ! 
If  any  star  shed  peace,  'tis  thou. 

That  send'st  it  from  above, 
Appearing  when  Heaven's  breath  and  brow, 

Are  sweet  as  her's  we  love. 

Come  to  the  luxuriant  skies, 
Whilst  the  landscape's  odours  rise, 
Whilst  far-off  lowing  herds  are  heard, 

And  songs,  when  toil  is  done, 
From  cottages  whose  smoke  unstirred 

Curls  yellow  in  the  sun. 

Star  of  love's  soft  interviews, 
Parted  lovers  on  thee  muse  ; 
Their  remembrancer  in  Heaven 

Of  thrilling  vows  thou  art, 
Too  delicious  to  be  riven 

By  absence  from  the  heart. 


VALEDICTORY  STANZAS 
TO  J.  P.  KEMBL^  Es<i. 

Composed  for  a  public  meeting  held  in  June,  1817. 

PRIDE  of  the  British  stage, 

A  long  and  last  adieu ! 
Whose  image  brought  th'  heroic  age 

Revived  to  Fancy's  view. 


CAMPBELL'S  POSMS.  151 

Like  fields  refreshed  with  dewy  light 

When  the  sun  smiles  his  last. 
Thy  parting  presence  makes  more  bright 

Our  memory  of  the  past ; 
And  memory  conjures  feelings  up 

That  wine  or  music  need  not  swell, 
As  high  we  lift  the  festal  cup 

To  Kemble  !  fare  thee  well ! 
His  was  the  spell  o'er  hearts 

Which  only  acting  lends, — 
The  youngest  of  the  sister  Arts, 

Where  all  their  beauty  blends : 
For  ill  can  Poetry  express 

Full  many  a  tone  of  thought  sublime, 
And  Painting,  mute  and  motionless, 

Steals  but  a  glance  of  time. 
But  by  the  mighty  actor  brought, 

Illusion's  perfect  triumphs  come — 
Verse  ceases  to  be  airy  thought, 

And  Sculpture  to  be  dumb. 
Time  may  again  revive, 

But  ne'er  eclipse  the  charm, 
When  Cato  spoke  in  him  alive, 

Or  Hotspur  kindled  warm. 
What  soul  was  not  resigned  entire 

To  the  deep  sorrows  of  the  Moor, — 
What  English  the  art  was  not  on  fire 

With  him  at  Agincourt  ? 
And  yet  a  majesty  possessed 

His  transport's  most  impetuous  tone, 
And  to  each  passion  of  his  breast 

The  Graces  gave  their  zone. 
High  were  the  task — too  high, 

Ye  conscious  bosoms  here  ! 
In  words  to  paint  your  memory 

Of  Kemble  and  of  Lear ; 


152  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

But  who  forgets  liiat  white  discrowned  head, 

Those  bursts  of  reason's  half-extinguishM  glare — 
Those  tears  upon  Cordelia's  bosom  shed. 

In  doubt  more  touching  than  despair, 
If  'twas  reality  he  felt  ? 

Had  Shakspeare's  self  amidst  you  been, 
Friends,  he  had  seen  you  melt, 

And  triumphed  to  have  seen ! 

And  there  was  many  an  hour 

Of  blended  kindred  fame, 
When  Siddon's  auxiliar  power 

And  sister  magic  came. 
Together  at  the  Muse's  side 

The  tragic  paragons  had  grown — 
They  were  the  children  of  her  pride, 

The  columns  of  her  throne, 
And  undivided  favour  ran 

From  heart  to  heart  in  their  applause, 
Save  for  the  gallantry  of  .man, 

In  lovelier  woman's  cause. 
Fair  as  some  classic  dome, 

Robust  and  richly  graced, 
Your  Kemble's  spirit  was  the  home 

Of  genius  and  of  taste  :— 
Taste  like  the  silent  dial's  power, 

That  when  supernal  light  is  given, 
Can  measure  inspiration's  hour, 

And  tell  its  height  in  heaven. 
At  once  ennobled  and  .correct, 

His  mind  surveyed  the  tragic  page, 
And  what  the  actor  could  effect 

The  scholar  could  presage. 

These  were  his  traits  of  worth :— - 
And  must  we  lose  them  now ! 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  153 

And  shall  the  scene  no  more  show  forth 

His  sternly  pleasing  brow ! 
Alas,  the  moral  brings  a  tear  ! — 

'Tis,  all  a  transient  hour  below; 
And  we  that  would  detain  thee  here. 

Ourselves  as  fleetly  go  ! 
Yet  shall  our  latest  age 

This  parting  scene  review : — 
Pride  of  the  British  stage, 

A  long  and  last  adieu !  % 


LINES, 

SPOKEN    BY    MR.****,    AT    DRURY   LANE    THEATRE, 

On  the  first  opening  of  the  House  after  the  death  of  '" 
Princess  Charlotte,  1817. 

BRITONS  !  although  our  task  is  but  to  show 
The  scenes  and  passions  of  fictitious  wo, 
Think  not  we  come  this  night  without  a  part 
In  that  deep  sorrow  of  the  public  heart, 
Which  like  a  shade  hath  darkened  ev'ry  place, 
And  moistened  with  a  tear  the  manliest  face ! 
The  bell  is  scarcely  hushed  in  Windsor's  piles, 
That  tolled  a  requiem  from  the  solemn  aisles, 
For  her,  the  royal  flower,  low  laid  in  dust, 
That  was  your  fairest  hope,  your  fondest  trust. 
Unconscious  of  the  doom,  we  dreamt,  alas ! 
That  ev'n  these  walls,  ere  many  months  should  pass, 
Which  but  return  sad  accents  for  her  now 
Perhaps  had  witnessed  her  benignant  brow, 


154  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

Cheered  by  the  voice  you  would  have  raised  on  high, 
In  bursts  of  British  love  and  loyalty. 
But,  Britain  !  now  thy  chief,  thy  people  mourn, 
And  Claremont's  home  of  love  is  left  forlorn  : — 
There,  where  the  happiest  of  the  happy  dwelt, 
The  'scutcheon  glooms,  and  royalty  hath  felt  • 

A  wound  that  ev'ry  bosom  feels  its  own, — 
The  blessing  of  a  father's  heart  o'erthrown — 
The  most  beloved  and  most  demoted  bride 
Torn  from  an  agonized  Husband's  side, 
Who  "  long  as  memory  holds  her  seat"  shall  view 
That  speechless,  more  than  spoken  last  adieu, 
When  the  fixed  eye  long  looked  connubial  faith. 
And  beamed  affection  in  the  trance  of  death. 
Sad  was  the  pomp  that  yesternight  beheld, 
As  with  the  mourner's  heart  the  anthem  swelled  ; 
While  torch  succeeding  torch  illumed  each  high 
And  bannered  arch  of  England's  chivalry. 
The  rich  plumed  canopy,  the  gorgeous  pall, 
The  sacred  march,  and  sable-vested  wall — 
These  were  not  rites  of  inexpressive  show, 
But  hallowed  as  the  types  of  real  wo  ! 
Daughter  of  England  !  for  a  nation's  sighs, 
A  nation's  heart  went  with  thine  obsequies  ! — 
And  oft  shall  time  revert  a  look  of  grief 
On  thine  existence,  beautiful  and  brief. 
Fair  spirit !  send  thy  blessing  from  above 
On  realms  where  thou  art  canonized  by  love  ! 
Give  to  a  father's,  husband's  bleeding  mind, 
That  peace  that  angels  lend  to  humankind ;    v 
To  us  who  in  thy  loved  remembrance  feel 
A  sorrowing,  but  a  soul  ennobling  zeal — 
A  loyalty  that  touches  all  the  best 
And  loftiest  principles  of  England's  breast ! 
Still  may  thy  name  speak  concord  from  the  tomb  ; 
in  the  Muse's  breath  thy  memory  bloom  I 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  155 

They  shall  describe  thy  life — thy  £jrm  portray 
But  all  the  love  that  mourns  thee  swept  away, 
'Tis  not  in  language  or  expressive  arts 
To  paint — ye  feel  it,  Britons,  in  your  hearts ! 


LINES, 

On  receiving  a  seal  with  the  Campbell  Crest,  from 
K.  M. ,  before  her  marriage. 

THIS  wax  returns  not  back  more  fair, 
Th3  impression  of  the  gift  you  send, 

Than  stamped  upon  my  thoughts  I  bear 
The  image  of  your  worth,  my  friend ! — 

We  are  not  friends  of  yesterday : — 

But  poet's  fancies  are  a  little 
Disposed  to  heat  and  cool,  (they  say,) — * 

By  turns  impressible  and  brittle. 

Well !  should  its  frailty  e'er  condemn 
My  heart  to  prize  or  please  you  less, 

Your  type  is  still  the  sealing  gem, 
And  mine  the  waxen  brittleness. 

What  transcripts  of  my  weal  and  wo 

This  little  signet  yet  may  lock, — 
What  utt'rances  to  friend  or  foe, 

In  reason's  calm  or  passion's  shock ! 

What  scenes  of  life's  yet  curtained  page 

May  own  its  confidential  die, 
Whose  stamp  awaits  th'  unwritten  page 

And  feelings  of  futurity !— 


156  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

Yet  wheresoe'er  my  pen  I  lift 

To  date  th'  epistolary  sheet, 
The  blest  occasion  of  the  gift 

Shall  make  its  recollection  sweet ; 

Sent  when  the  star  that  rules  your  fetes 
Hath  reached  its  influence  most  benign — 

When  every  heart  congratulates, 
And  none  more  cordially  than  mine 

So  speed  my  song — marked  with  the  crest 
That  erst  th3  advent'rous  Norman*  wore, 

Who  won  the  Lady  of  the  West, 
The  daughter  of  Macaillain  Mor. 

Crest  of  my  sires  !  whose  blood  it  sealed 
With  glory  in  the  strife  of  swords, 

Ne'er  may  the  scroll  that  bears  it  yield 
Degenerate  thoughts  or  faithless  words  ! 

Yet  little  might  I  prize  the  stone, 

If  it  but  typed  the  feudal  tree 
From  whence,  a  scattered  leaf,  I'm  blown 

In  Fortune's  mutability. 

No ! — but  it  tells  me  of  a  heart, 

Allied  by  friendship's  living  tie ; 
A  prize  beyond  the  herald's  art — 

Our  soul-sprung  consanguinity ! 

Katherine  I  to  many  an  hour  of  mine 
Light  wings  and  sunshine  you  have  lent ; 

And  so  adieu,  and  still  be  thine 
The  all  in-all  of  life— Content ! 

*  A  Norman  leader,  in  the  service  of  the  king  of  Scotland,  married 
the  heiress  of  Lochqw  in  the  twelfth  century,  and  from  hiin  the  Camp 
bells  are  sprung. 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  157 


STANZAS 

To  the  memory  of  the  Spanish  Patriots  latest  killed  in  re- 
sisting tlie  Regency  and  the  Duke  of  Jlngouleme. 

BRAVE  men  who  at  the  Trocadero  fell — 

Beside  your  cannons  conquered  not,  though  slain. 

There  is  a  Victory  in  dying  well 

For  Freedom, — and  ye  have  not  died  in  vain  ; 

For  come  what  may  there  shall  be  hearts  in  Spain 

To  honour,  ay  embrace  your  martyred  lot. 

Cursing  the  Bigot's  and  the  Bourbon's  chain, 

And  looking  on  your  graves,  though  trophied  not, 

As  holier,  hallowed  ground  than  priests  could  make  the 

spot ! 

What  though  your  cause  be  baiiled — freemen  cast 
In  dungeons— dragged  to  death,  or  forced  to  flee  ; 
Hop-e  is  not  withered  in  affliction's  blast — 
The  patriot's  blood's  the  seed  of  Freedom's  tree  ; 
And  short  your  orgies  of  revenge  shall  be, 
Cowled  demons  of  the  Inquisitorial  cell 
Earth  shudders  at  your  victory, — for  ye 
Are  worse  than  common  fiends  from  Heaven  that  fell, 
The  baser,  ranker  sprung  Autochthones  of  hell ! 

Go  to  your  bloody  rites  again — bring  back 
The  hall  of  horrors  and  the  assessor's  pen, 
Recording  answers  shrieked  upon  the  rack ; 
Smile  o'er  the  gaspings  of  spine-broken  men ; — 
Preach,  perpetrate  damnation  in  your  den  ; — 
Then  let  your  altars,  ye  blasphemers  !  peal 
With  thanks  to  Heaven,  that  let  you  loose  again, 
To  practise  deeds  with  torturing  fire  and  steel 
No  eye  may  search — no  tongue  may  challenge  orreveal ! 
O 


158 

Yet  laugh  not  in  your  carnival  of  crime 

Too  proudly,  ye  oppressors ! — Spain  was  free, 

Her  soil  has  felt  the  foot-prints,  and  her  crime 

Been  winnow'd  by  the  wings  of  Liberty ; 

And  these  even  parting  scatter  as  they  flee 

Thoughts — influences,  to  live  in  hearts  unborn, 

Opinions  that  shall  wrench  the  prison-key 

From  Persecution — show  her  mask  off-torn, 

And  tramp  her  bloated  head  beneath  the  foot  of  Scorn ! 

Glory  to  them  that  die  in  this  great  cause ! 
Kings,  Bigots,  can  inflict  no  brand  of  shame, 
Or  shape  of  death,  to  shroud  them  from  applause : 
No ! — manglers  of  the  martyr's  earthly  frame ! 
Your  hangmen  fingers  cannot  touch  his  fame. 
Still  in  your  prostrate  land  there  shall  be  some 
Proud  hearts,  the  shrines  of  Freedom's  vestal  flame. 
Long  trains  of  ill  may  pass  unheeded,  dumb, 
But  vengeance  is  behind,  and  justice  is  to  come. 


LINES 

INSCRIBED  ON   THE  MONUMENT  LATELY  FINISHED  BT 
MR.  CHANTREY, 

Which  has  been  erected  by  the  widow  of  Admiral  Sir  G. 
Campbell,  K.  C.  B.  to  the  memory  of  her  husband. 

To  him,  whose  loyal,  brave,  and  gentle  heart 
Fulfilled  the  hero's  and  the  patriot's  part, — 
Whose  charity,  like  that  which  Paul  enjoin'dj 
Was  warm,  beneficent,  and  uneonfined,— > 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  159 

This  stone  is  reared  to  public  duty  true, 
The  seaman's  friend,  the  father  of  his  crew — 
Mild  in  reproof,  sagacious  in  command, 
He  spread  fraternal  zeal  throughout  his  band, 
And  led  each  arm  to  act,  each  heart  to  feel, 
What  British  valour  owes  to  Britain's  weal. 

These  were  his  public  virtues : — but  to  trace 
His  private  life's  fair  purity  and  grace, 
To  paint  the  traits  that  drew  affection  strong 
From  friends,  an  ample  and  an  ardent  throng, 
And,  more,  to  speak  his  memory's  grateful  claim 
On  her  who  mourns  him  most,  and  bears  his  name — • 
O'ercomes  the  trembling  hand  of  wido\ved  grief, 
O'ercomes  the  heart,  unconscious  of  relief, 
Save  in  religion's  high  and  holy  trust, 
Whilst  placing  their  memorial  o'er  his  dust. 


SONG  OF.  THE  GREEKS. 

AGAIN  to  the  battle,  Achaians ! 

Our  hearts  bid  the  tyrants  defiance 

Our  land,  the  first  garden  of  Liberty's  tree — 

It  has  been,  and  shall  yet  be  the  land  of  the  free : 

For  the  cross  of  our  faith  is  replanted, 

The  pale  dying  crescent  is  daunted, 

And  we  march  that  the  footprints  of  Mahomet's  slaves 

May  be  washed  out  in  blood  from  our  forefathers' graves. 

Their  spirits  are  hovering  o'er  us, 

And  the  sword  shall  to  glory  restore  us 

Ah !  what  though  no  succour  advances, 
Nor  Christendom's  chivalrous  lances 


160  CAMPBELI/S    POEMS. 

Are  stretched  in  our  aid — be  the  combat  our  own ! 
And  we'll  perish  or  conquer  more  proudly  alone  : 
For  we've  sworn  by  our  Country's  assaulters, 
By  the  virgins  they've  dragged  from  our  altars, 
By  our  massacred  patriots,  our  children  in  chains, 
By  our  heroes  of  old,  and  their  blood  in  our  veins, 
That  living,  we  shall  be  victorious, 
Or  that  dying,  our  deaths  shall  be  glorious. 

A  breath  of  submission  we  breathe  not ; 

The  sword  that  we've  drawn  we  will  sheathe  not ' 

Its  scabbard  is  left  where  our  martyrs  are  laid, 

And  the  vengeance  of  ages  has  whetted  its  blade. 

Earth  may  hide — waves  engulf — fire  consume  us, 

But  they  shall  not  to  slavery  doom  us  : 

If  they  rule,  it  shall  be  o'er  our  ashes  and  graves  ; 

But  we've  smote  them  already  with  fire  on  the  waves, 

And  new  triumphs  on  land  are  before  us. 

To  the  charge ! — Heaven's  banner  is  o'er  us. 

This  day  shall  ye  blush  for  its  story, 

Or  brighten  your  lives  with  its  glory  ? 

Our  women,  Oh,  say,  shall  they  shriek  in  despair, 

Or  embrace  us  from  conquest  with  wreaths  in  their  hair  ? 

Accursed  may  his  memory  blacken, 

If  a  coward  there  be  that  would  slacken  [worth 

Till  we've  trampled  the  turban  and  shown  ourselves 

Being  sprung  from  and  named  for  the  godlike  of  earth. 

Strike  home,  and  the  world  shall  revere  us 

As  heroes  descended  from  heroes. 

Old  Greece  lightens  up  with  emotion 

Her  inlands,  her  isles  of  the  Ocean  ; 

Fanes  rebuilt  and  fair  towns  shall  with  jubilee  ring, 

And  the  Nine  shall  new  hallow  their  Helicon's  spring  * 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  161 

Our  hearths  shall  be  kindled  in  gladness, 

That  were  cold  and  extinguished  in  sadness  ;      [arms, 

Whilst  our  maidens  shall  dance  with  their  white  waving 

Singing  joy  to  the  brave  that  delivered  their  charms, 

When  the  blood  of  yon  Mussulman  cravens, 

Shall  have  purpled  the  beaks  of  our  ravens. 


THE  LOVER  TO  HIS  MISTRESS 

ON   HER    BIRTHDAY. 

IF  any  white  winged  Power  above 

My  joys  and  griefs  survey, 
The  day  when  thou  wert  born,  my  love — 

He  surely  blessed  that  day. 

I  laughed  (till  taught  by  thee)  when  told 

Of  beauty's  magic  powers, 
That  ripened  life's  dull  ore  to  gold, 

And  changed  its  weeds  to  flowers. 

My  mind  had  lovely  shapes  portrayed ; 

But  thought  I  earth  had  one 
Could  make  e'en  Fancy's  visions  fade 

Like  stars  before  the  sun  ? 

I  gazed  and  felt  upon  my  lips 

Th'  unfinished  accents  hang : 
One  moment's  bliss,  one  burning  kiss, 

To  rapture  changed  each  pang. 

And  though  as  swift  as  lightning's  flash 

Those  tranced  moments  flew, 
Not  all  the  waves  of  time  shall  wash 

Their  memory  from  my  view. 
O  2 


162  CAMPBELL  S    POEMS. 

But  duly  shall  my  raptured  song. 
And  gladly  shall  my  eyes, 

Still  bless  this  day's  return,  as  long 
As  them  shalt  see  it  rise. 


SONG, 

"  MEN   OF   ENGLAND." 

MEN  of  England  !  who  inherit 
Rights  that  cost  your  sires  their  blood 

Men  whose  undegenerate  spirit 
Has  been  proved  on  land  and  flood : — 

By  the  foes  ye've  fought  uncounted, 
By  the  glorious  deeds  ye've  done, 

Trophies  captured — breaches  mounted, 
Navies  conquered — kingdoms  won ! 

Yet,  remember,  England  gathers 
Hence  but  fruitless  wreaths  of  fame, 

If  the  patriotism  of  your  fathers 
Glow  not  in  your  hearts  the  same. 

What  are  monuments  of  bravery, 
Where  no  public  virtues  bloom  ? 

What  avail  in  lands  of  slavery/ 
Trophied  temples,  arch  and  tomb  ? 

Pageants ! — Let  the  world  revere  us 
For  our  people's  rights  and  laws, 

And  the  breasts  of  civic  heroes 
Bared  in  Freedom's  holy  cause. 

Yours  are  Hampden's,  Russell's  glory, 
Sydney's  matchless  shade  is  yours,— 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  163 

Martyrs  in  heroic  story, 

Worth  a  hundred  Agincourts  ! 

We're  the  sons  of  sires  that  baffled 

Crowned  and  mitred  tyranny : 
They  defied  the  field  and  scaffold 

For  their  birthrights — so  will  we ! 


ADELGITHA. 

THE  ordeal's  fatal  trumpet  sounded. 

And  sad  pale  Melgitha  came, 
When  forth  a  valiant  champion  bounded, 

And  slew  the  slanderer  of  her  fame. 

She  wept,  delivered  from  her  danger  ; 

But  when  he  knelt  to  claim  her  glove 
"  Seek  not,"  she  cried,  "  oh !  gallant  stranger 

For  hapless  Jldelgitkcfs  love. 

"  For  he  is  in  a  foreign  far  land 

Whose  arm  should  now  have  set  me  free  ; 
And  I  must  wear  the  willow  garland 

For  him  that's  dead,  or  false  to  me." 

"  Nay  !  say  not  that  his  faith  is  tainted !" 
He  raised  his  vizor — At  the  sight 

She  fell  into  his  arms  and  fainted ; 
It  was  indeed  her  own  true  knight ! 


SONG. 

DRINK  ye  to  her  that  each  loves  best, 

And  if  you  nurse  a  flame 
That's  told  but  to  her  mutual  breast, 

We  will  not  ask  her  name. 


164  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

Enough,  while  memory  tranced  and  glad 

Paints  silently  the  fair, 
That  each  should  dream  of  joys  he's  had, 

Or  yet  may  hope  to  share. 

Yet  far,  far  hence  be  jest  or  boast 
From  hallowed  thoughts  so  dear : 

But  drink  to  them  that  we  love  most, 
As  they  would  love  to  hear. 


SONG. 

WHEN  Napoleon  was  flying 
From  the  field  of  Waterloo, 

A  British  soldier  dying. 
To  his  brother  bade  adieu ! 

"  And  take,"  he  said,  "  this  token 
To  the  maid  that  owns  my  faith, 

With  the  words  that  I  have  spoken 
In  affection's  latest  breath." 

Sore  mourned  the  brother's  heart, 
When  the  youth  beside  him  fell ; 

But  the  trumpet  warned  to  part, 
And  they  took  a  sad  farewell. 

There  was  many  a  friend  to  lose  him, 
For  that  gallant  soldier  sighed  ; 

But  the  maiden  of  his  bosom 
Wept  when  all  their  tears  were  dried. 


SONG. 

OH  how  hard  it  is  to  find 
The  one  just  suited  to  our  mind ; 
And  if  that  one  should  be 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  165 

False,  unkind,  or  found  too  late 
What  can  we  do  but  sigh  at  fate, 
And  sing  Wo's  me — Wo's  me ! 

Love's  a  boundless  burning  waste, 
Where  bliss's  stream  we  seldom  taste, 

And  still  more  solemn  flee 
Suspense's  thorns,  Suspicion's  stings  ; 
Yet  somehow  Love  a  something  brings 

That's  sweet — ev'n  when  we  sigh  Wo's  me ! 


SONG. 

EARL  March  looked  on  his  dying  child, 
And  smit  with  grief  to  view  her — 

The  youth,  he  cried,  whom  I  exiled, 
Shall  be  restored  to  woo  her. 

She's  at  the  window  many  an  hour 

His  coming  to  discover : 
And  her  love  looked  up  to  Ellen's  bower, 

And  she  looked  on  her  lover — 

But  ah !  so  pale,  he  knew  her  not, 

Though  her  smile  on  him  was  dwelling 

And  am  I  then  forgot — forgot  ? — 
It  broke  the  heart  of  Ellen. 

In  vain  he  weeps,  in  vain  he  sighs, 

Her  cheek  is  cold  as  ashes  ; 
Nor  love's  own  kiss  shall  wake  those  eyes 

To  lift  their  silken  lashes. 


166  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

ABSENCE. 

'Tis  not  the  loss  of  love's  assurance, 

It  is  not  doubting  what  thou  art, 
But  'tis  the  too,  too  long  endurance 

Of  absence,  that  afflicts  my  heart. 

The  fondest  thoughts  two  hearts  can  cherish, 
When  each  is  lonely  doomed  to  weep, 

Are  fruits  on  desert  isles  that  perish, 
Or  riches  buried  in  the  deep. 

What  though,  untouched  by  jealous  madness, 
Our  bosom's  peace  may  fall  to  wreck ; 

Th'  undoubting  heart,  that  breaks  with  sadness, 
Is  but  more  slowly  doomed  to  break. 

Absence !  is  not  the  soul  torn  by  it 

From  more  than  light,  or  life,  or  breath  ? 

Lethe's  gloom,  but  not  its  quiet — 
The  pain  without  the  peace  of  death  ! 


SONG. 

WITHDRAW  not  yet  those  lips  and  fingers, 
Whose  touch  to  mine  is  rapture's  spell ; 

Life's  joy  for  us  a  moment  lingers. 

And  death  seems  in  the  word — farewell. 

The  hour  that  bids  us  part  and  go, 

It  sounds  not  yet,  oh !  no,  no,  no. 

Time,  while  I  gaze  upon  thy  sweetness, 
Flies  like  a  courser  nigh  the  goal ; 

To-morrow  where  shall  be  his  fleetness, 
When  thou  art  parted  from  my  soul  ? 

Our  hearts  shall  beat,  our  tears  shall  flow, 

But  not  together — no,  no,  no ! 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  167 

THE  LAST  MAN. 

ALL  worldly  shapes  shall  melt  in  gloom, 

The  Sun  himself  must  die, 
Before  this  mortal  shall  assume 

Its  Immortality ! 
I  saw  a  vision  in  my  sleep, 
That  gave  my  spirit  strength  to  sweep 

Adown  the  gulf  of  Time ! 
I  saw  the  last  of  human  mould, 
That  shall  Creation's  death  behold, 

As  Adam  saw  her  prime  ' 

The  Sun's  eye  had  a  sickly  glare, 

The  Earth  with  age  was  wan, 
The  skeletons  of  nations  were 

Around  that  lonely  man  ! 
Some  had  expired  in  fight,- — the  brands 
Still  rusted  in  their  bony  hands; 

In  plague  and  famine  some  ! 
Earth's  cities  had  no  sound  nor  .tread 
And  ships  were  -drifting  with  the  dead 

To  shores  where  all  was  dumb ! 

Yet,  prophet  like,  that  lone  one  stood, 

With  dauntless  words  and  high, 
That  shook  the  sere  leaves  from  the  wood 

As  if  a  storm  passed  by, 
Saying,  We  are  twins  in  death,  proud  Sun, 
Thy  face  is  cold,  thy  race  is  run, 

'Tis  Mercy  bids  thee  go. 
For  thou  ten  thousand  thousand  years 
Hast  seen  the  tide  of  human  tears, 

That  shall  no  longer  flow. 

What  though  beneath  thee  man  put  forth 
His  pomp,  his  pride,  his  skill ; 


!68  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

And  arts  that  made  fire,  floods,  and  earth, 

The  vassals  of  his  will ; 

t 

Yet  mourn  not  I  thy  parted  sway, 
Thou  dim  discrowned  king  of  day  : 

For  all  those  trophied  arts 
And  triumphs  that  beneath  thee  sprang, 
Healed  not  a  passion  or  a  pang 

Entailed  on  human  hearts. 

Go,  let  oblivion's  curtain  fall 

Upon  the  stage  of  men, 
Nor  with  thy  rising  beams  recall 

Life's  tragedy  again. 
Its  piteous  pageants  bring  not  back. 
Nor  waken  flesh  upon  the  rack 

Of  pain  anew  to  writhe ; 
Stretched  in  disease's  shapes  abhorred, 
Or  mown  in  battle  by  the  sword, 

Like  grass  beneath  the  scythe. 

Ev'n  I  am  weary  in  yon  skies 

To  watch  thy  fading  fire  ; 
Test  of  all  sumless  agonies,  • 

Behold  not  me  expire. 
My  lips  that  spea"k  thy  dirge  of  death — 
Their  rounded  gasp  and  girgling  breath 

To  see  thou  shalt  not  boast. 
The  eclipse  of  Nature  spreads  my  pall, — 
The  majesty  of  Darkness  shall 

Receive  my  parting  ghost ! 

This  spirit  shall  return  to  Him 
That  gave  its  heavenly  spark ; 

Yet  think  not,  Sun,  it  shall  be  dim 
When  thou  thyself  art  dark  ! 

No  !  it  shall  live  again,  and  shine 

In  bliss  unknown  to  beams  of  thine, 
By  him  recalled  to  breath, 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  169 

Who  captive  led  captivity, 
Who  robbed  the  grave  of  Victory, — • 
And  took  the  sting  from  death  I 

Go,  Sun,  while  Mercy  holds  me  up 

On  Nature's  awful  waste 
To  drink  this  last  and  bitter  cup 

Of  grief  that  man  shall  taste — 
Go,  tell  that  night  that  hides  thy  face, 
Thou  saw'st  the  last  of  Adam's  race, 

On  Earth's  sepulchral  clod, 
The  dark'ning  universe  defy 
To  quench  his  Immortality, 

Or  shake  his  trust  in  God  ! 


THE  RITTER  BANN. 

THE  Ritter  Bann  from  Hungary 
Came  back,  renowned  in  arms, 

But  scorning  jousts  of  chivalry 
And  love  and  ladies'  charms. 

While  other  knights  held  revels,  he 
Was  wrapt  in  thoughts  of  gloom, 

And  in  Vienna's  hostelrie 
Slow  paced  his  lonely  room. 

There  entered  one  whose  face  he  knew,- 
Whose  voice,  he  was  aware, 

He  oft  at  mass  had  listened  to, 
In  the  holy  house  of  prayer. 

'Twas  the  Abbot  of  St.  James's  monks, 

A  fresh  and  fair  old  man ; 
His  reverend  air  arrested  ev'n 

The  gloomy  Ritter  Bann. 
P 


170  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

But  seeing  with  him  an  ancient  dame 

Come  clad  in  Scotch  attire, 
The  Ritter's  colour  went  and  came. 

And  loud  he  spoke  in  ire, 

"  Ha !  nurse  of  her  that  was  my  bane, 

Name  not  her  name  to  me  ; 
I  wish  it  blotted  from  my  brain  : 

Art  poor? — take  alms,  and  flee." 

"  Sir  Knight;"  the  abbot  interposed, 
"  This  case  your  ear  demands  ;" 

And  the  crone  cried,  with  a  cross  enclosed 
In  both  her  trembling  hands  : 

"  Remember,  each  his  sentence  waits ; 

And  he  that  shall  rebut 
Sweet  Mercy's  suit,  on  him  the  gates 

Of  Mercy  shall  be  shut. 

You  wedded  undispensed  by  Church, 
Your  cousin  Jane  in  Spring :— - 

In  Autumn,  when  you  went  to  search 
For  Churchmen's  pardoning, 

Her  house  denounced  your  marriage-band. 

Betrothed  her  to  De  Grey, 
And  the  ring  you  put  upon  her  hand 

Was  wrenched  by  force  away. 

Then  wept  your  Jane  upon  my  neck, 
Crying,  c  Help  me,  nurse,  to  flee 

To  my  Howel  Bann's  Glamorgan  hills  :' 
But  word  arrived — ah  me  ! — 

You  were  not  there  *  and  'twas  their  threat, 

By  foul  means  or  by  fair, 
To-morrow  morning  was  to  set 

The  seal  on  her  despair 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  171 

I  had  a  son,  a  sea-boy,  in 

A  ship  at  Hartland  bay ; 
By  his  aid  from  her  cruel  kin 

I  bore  my  bird  away. 

To  Scotland  from  the  Devon's 

Green  myrtle  shores  we  fled ; 
And  the  Hand  that  sent  the  ravens 

To  Elijah,  gave  us  bread. 

She  wrote  you  by  my  son,  but  he 

From  England  sent  us  word 
You  had  gone  into  some  far  countrie, 

In  grief  and  gloom  he  heard. 

For  they  had  wronged  yon,  to  elude 

Your  wrath,  defamed  my  child  ; 
And  you — ay,  blush,  Sir,  as  you  should — 

Believed,  and  were  beguiled. 

To  die  but  at  your  feet,  she  vowed 

To  roam  the  world  ;  and  we 
Would  both  have  sped  and  begged  our  bread, 

But  so  it  might  not  be. 

For  when  the  snow-storm  beat  our  roof, 

She  bore  a  boy,  Sir  Bann, 
Who  grew  as  fair  your  likeness  proof 

As  child  e'er  grew  like  man. 

'Twas  smiling  on  that  babe  one  morn 

While  health  bloomed  on  the  moor, 
Her  beauty  struck  young  Lord  Kinghorn 

As  he  hunted  past  our  door. 

She  shunned  him,  but  he  raved  of  Jane 

And  roused  his  mother's  pride  ; 
Who  came  to  us  in  high  disdain, 

c  And  where's  the  face,'  she  cried, 


172  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS, 

(  Has  witched  my  boy  to  wish  for  one 

So  wretched  for  his  wife  ? 
Dost  love  thy  husband  ?     Know,  my  son 

Has  sworn  to  seek  his  life.' 

Her  anger  sore  dismayed  us. 
For  our  mite  was  wearing  scant, 

And,  unless  that  dame  would  aid  us, 
There  was  none  to  aid  our  want. 

So  I  told  her,  weeping  bitterly. 
What  all  our  woes  had  been ; 

And,  though  she  was  a  stern  ladie. 
The  tears  stood  in  her  een. 

And  she  housed  us  both,  when,  cheerfully, 

My  child  to  her  had  sworn, 
That  even  if  made  a  widow,  she 

Would  never  wed  Kinghorn." 

Here  paused  the  nurse,  and  then  began 

The  abbot,  standing  by : 
"  Three  months  ago  a  wounded  man 

To  our  abbey  came  to  die. 

He  heard  me  long,  with  ghastly  eyes 

And  hand  obdurate  clenched, 
Speak  of  the  worm  that  never  dies, 

And  the  fire  that  is  not  quenched. 

At  last  by  what  this  scroll  attests 

He  left  atonement  brief, 
For  years  of  anguish  to  the  breasts 

His  guilt  had  wrung  with  grief. 

c  There  lived,5  he  said,  <  a  fair  young  dame 

Beneath  my  mother's  roof; 
I  loved  her,  but  against  my  flame 

Her  purity  was  proof, 


173 


I  feigned  repentance,  friendship  pure  ; 

That  mood  she  did  not  check, 
But  let  her  husband's  miniature 

Be  copied  from  her  neck. 

As  means  to  search  him,  my  deceit 

Took  care  to  him  was  borne 
Nought  but  his  picture's  counterfeit, 

And  Jane's  reported  scorn. 

The  treachery  took :  she  waited  wild ; 

My  slave  came  back  and  lied 
Whate'er  I  wished  ;  she  clasped  her  child, 

And  swooned,  and  all  but  died. 

I  felt  her  tears  for  years  and  years 

Quench  not  my  flame,  but  stir  : 
The  very  hate  I  bore  her  mate 

Increased  my  love  for  her. 

Fame  told  us  of  his  glory,  while 

Joy  flushed  the  face  of  Jane  ; 
And  whilst  she  blessed  his  name,  her  smile 

Struck  fire  into  my  brain. 

No  fears  could  damp ;  I  reached  the  camp, 

Sought  out  its  champion  ; 
And  if  my  broadsword  failed  at  last, 

JTwas  long  and  well  laid  on. 

This  wound's  my  meed,  my  name's  Kinghorn. 

My  foe's  the  Ritter  Bann.3 — 
The  wafer  to  his  lips  was  borne, 

And  we  shrived  the  dying  man. 

He  died  not  till  you  went  to  fight 

The  Turks  at  Warradein ; 
But  I  see  my  tale  has  changed  you  pale." 

The  Abbot  went  for  wine  ; 
P  2 


174  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

And  brought  a  little  page  who  poured 

It  out,  and  knelt  and  smiled  : 
The  stunned  knight  saw  himself  restored 

To  childhood  in  his  child ; 

And  stooped  and  caught  him  to  his  breast, 

Laughed  loud  and  wept  anon, 
And  with  a  shower  of  kisses  pressed 

The  darling  little  one. 

<f  And  where  went  Jane  ?" — "  To  a  nunnery,  Sir- 
Look  not  again  so  pale — 

Kinghorn's  old  dame  grew  harsh  to  her." — 
"  And  has  she  ta'en  the  veil  ?" 

"  Sit  down,  Sir,"  said  the  priest,  "  I  bar 
Rash  words." — They  sat  all  three, 

And  the  boy  played  with  the  knight's  broad  star, 
As  he  kept  him  on  his  knee. 

"  Think  ere  ypu  ask  her  dwelling-place," 

The  abbot  further  said  ; 
"  Time  draws  a  veil  o'er  beauty's  face 

More  deep  than  cloister's  shade. 

Grief  may  have  made  her  what  you  can 

Scarce  love  perhaps  for  life." 
"  Hush,  abbot,"  cried  the  Ritter  Bann, 

"  Or  tell  me  where's  my  wife." 

The  priest  undid  two  doors  that  hid 

The  inn's  adjacent  room, 
And  there  a  lovely  woman  stood, 

Tears  bathed  her  beauty's  bloom. 

One  moment  may  with  bliss  repay 

Unnumbered  hours  of  pain  ; 
Such  was  the  throb  and  mutual  sob 

Of  the  Knight  embracing  Jane. 


175 


A  DREAM. 

WELL  may  sleep  present  us  fictions, 

Since  our  waking  moments  teem 
With  such  fanciful  convictions 

As  make  life  itself  a  dream.— 
Half  our  daylight  faith's  a  fable ; 

Sleep  disports  with  shadows  too, 
Seeming  in  their  turn  as  stable 

As  the  world  we  wake  to  view. 
Ne'er  by  day  did  Reason's  mint 
Give  my  thoughts  a  clearer  print 
Of  assured  reality, 
Than  was  left  by  Phantasy 
Stamped  and  coloured  on  my  sprite 
In  a  dream  of  yesternight. 

In  a  bark,  methought,  lone  steering, 

I  was  cast  on  Ocean's  strife  ; ' 
This,  'twas  whispered  in  my  hearing, 

Meant  the  sea  of  life. 
Sad  regrets  from  past  existence 

Came,  like  gales  of  chilling  breath ; 
Shadowed  in  the  forward  distance 

Lay  the  land  of  death. 
Now  seeming  more,  now  less  remote, 
On  that  dim-seen  shore,  methought, 
1  beheld  two  hands  a  space 
Slow  unshroud  a  spectre's  face  ; 
And  my  flesh's  hair  upstood, — 
'Twas  mine  own  similitude. 

But  my  soul  revived  at  seeing 
Ocean,  like  an  emerald  spark, 

Kindle,  while  an  air-dropt  being 
Smiling  steered  my  bark. 


176  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

Heaven-like — yet  he  looked  as  human 

As  supernal  beauty  can, 
More  compassionate  than  woman, 

Lordly  more  than  man. 
And  as  some  sweet  clarion's  breath 
Stirs  the  soldier's  scorn  of  death — 
So  his  accents  bade  me  brook 
The  spectre's  eyes  of  icy  look, 
Till  it  shut  them — turned  its  head, 
Like  a  beaten  foe,  and  fled. 

"  Types  not  this,"  I  said,  "  fair  spirit ! 

That  my  death-hour  is  not  come  ? 
Say,  what  days  shall  I  inherit  ? — 

Tell  my  soul  their  sum." 
c  No,"  he  said,  "  yon  phantom's  aspect, 

Trust  me,  would  appal  thee  worse, 
Held  in  clearly  measured  prospect : — 

Ask  not  for  a  curse  ! 
Make  not,  for  I  overhear 
Thine  unspoken  thoughts  as  clear 
As  thy  mortal  ear  could  catch 
The  close  brought  tickings  of  a  watch. 
Make  not  the  untold  request 
That's  now  revolving  in  thy  breast. 

"  5Tis  to  live  again,  remeasuring 

Youth's  years,  like  a  scene  rehearsed, 
In  thy  second  lifetime  treasuring 

Knowledge  from  the  first. 
Hast  thou  felt,  poor  self-deceiver ! 

Life's  career  so  void  of  pain, 
As  to  wish  its  fitful  fever 

New  begun  again  ? 
Could  experience,  ten  times  thine, 
Pain  from  Being  disentwine — 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  177 

Threads  by  Fate  together  spun  ? 
Could  thy  flight  heaven's  lightning  shun  ? 
No,  nor  could  thy  foresight's  glance 
'Scape  the  myriad  shafts  of  chance. 

"  Would'st  thou  bear  again  Love's  trouble — 

Friendship's  death-dissevered  ties ; 
Toil  to  grasp  or  miss  the  bubble 

Of  ambition's  prize  ? 
Say  thy  life's  new-guided  action 

Flowed  from  Virtue's  fairest  springs — 
Still  would  Envy  and  Detraction 

Double  not  their  stings  ? 
Worth  itself  is  but  a  charter 
To  be  mankind's  distinguished  martyr.' 
— I  caught  the  moral,  and  cried,  "  Hail, 
Spirit !  let  us  onward  sail 
Envying,  fearing,  hating  none, 
Guardian  Spirit,  steer  me  on  !" 


REULLURA*. 

STAR  of  the  morn  and  eve, 

Reullura  shone  like  thee, 
And  well  for  her  might  Aodh  grieve, 

The  dark-attired  Culdee.f 
Peace  to  their  shades  !  the  pure  Culdees 

Were  Albyn's  earliests  priests  of  God, 

*  Reullura,  in  Gaelic,  signifies  "  beautiful  star." 

t  The  Culdees  were  the  primitive  clergy  of  Scotland,  and  apparently 
Sier  only  clergy  from  the  sixth  to  the  eleventh  century.  They  were»of 
Irish  origin,  and  their  monastery  on  the  island  of  lona  or  Ikolmill,  was 
the  seminary  of  Christianity  in  North  Britain.  Presbyterian  writers 
liave  wished  to  prove  them  to  have  been  a  sort  of  Presbyters,  strangers 
to  the  Roman  Chursh  and  Episcopacy.  It  seems  to  be  established  that 
they  were  not  enemies  to  Er'.scopacy :— but  that  they  were  not  slavishly 
subjected  to  Rome,  like  the  clergy  of  later  periods,  appears  by  their  re- 
sisting the  Papal  ordinances  respecting  the  celibacy  of  religious  men,  on 
which  account  they  were  ultimately  displaced  by  the  Scottish  sovereigns 
ito  make  way  for  more  Popish  canons. 


178  CAMPBELL'S  POEMS. 

Ere  yet  an  island  of  her  seas 

By  foot  of  Saxon  monk  was  trode, 

Long  ere  her  churchmen  by  bigotry 

Were  barred  from  holy  wedlock's  tie. 

'Twas  then  that  Aodh,  famed  afar, 

In  lona  preached  the  word  with  power, 

And  Reullura,  beauty's  star, 
Was  the  partner  of  his  Lower. 

But,  Aodh,  the  roof  lies  low, 

And  the  thistle-down  waves  bleaching, 
And  the  bat  flits  to  and  fro 
'    Where  the  Gael  once  heard  thy  preaching  ; 
And  fall'n  in  is  each  columned  isle 

Where  the  chiefs  and  the  people  knelt. 
'Twas  near  that  temple's  goodly  pile 

That  honoured  of  men  they  dwelt. 
For  Aodh  was  wise  in  the  sacred  law, 
And  bright  Reullura's  eyes  oft  saw 

The  veil  of  fate  uplifted. 
Alas,  with  what  visions  of  awe 

Her  soul  in  that  hour  was  gifted — 

When  pale  in  the  temple  and  faint, 

With  Aodh  she  stood  alone 
By  the  statue  of  an  aged  saint  I 

Fair  sculptured  was  the  stone, 
It  bore  a  crucifix ; 

Fame  said  it  once  had  graced 
A  Christian  temple,  which  the  Picts 

In  the  Briton's  land  laid  waste : 
The  Pictish  men,  by  St.  Columb  taught, 
Had  hither  the  holy  relic  brought. 
Reullura  eyed  the  statue's  face, 

And  cried,  "  It  is,  he  shall  come, 
"  Even  he  in  this  very  place, 

To  avenge  my  martyrdom. 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  179 

For,  wo  to  the  Gael  people ! 

Ulvfagre  is  on  the  main, 
And  lona  shall  look  from  tower  and  steeple 

On  the  coming  ships  of  the  Dane ; 
And,  dames  and  daughters,  shall  all  your  locks 

With  the  spoiler's  grasp  entwine  ? 
No  !  some  shall  have  shelter  in  caves  and  rocks, 

And  the  deep  sea  shall  be  mine. 
Baffled  by  me  shall  the  Dane  return, 
And  here  shall  his  torch  in  the  temple  burn. 
Until  that  holy  man  shall  plough 

The  waves  from  Innisfail. 
His  sail  is  on  the  deep  e?cn  now, 

And  swells  to  the  southern  gale." 

"  Ah !  knowest  thou  not,  my  bride," 

The  holy  Aodh  said, 
"  That  the  saint  whose  form  we  stand  beside 

Has  for  ages  slept  with  the  dead  ?" 
"  He  liveth,  he  liveth,5j  she  said  again, 

"  For  the  span  of  his  life  tenfold  extends 
Beyond  the  wonted  years  of  men. 

He  sits  by  the  graves  of  well-loved  friends 
That  died  ere  thy  grandsire's  grandsire's  birth ; 
The  oak  is  decayed  with  old  age  on  earth, 
Whose  acorn-seed  had  been  planted  by  him  ; 

And  his  parents  remember  the  day  of  dread 
Whe.n  the  sun  on  the  cross  looked  dim, 

And  the  graves  gave  up  their  dead 

Yet  preaching  from  clime  to  clime, 

He  hath  roamed  the  earth  for  ages, 
And  hither  he  shall  come  in  time 

When  the  wrath  of  the  heathen  rages, 
In  time  a  remnant  from  the  sword— 
<  Ah !  but  a  remnant  to  deliver  * 


180 

Yet,  blest  be  the  name  of  the  Lord ! 

His  martyrs  shall  go  into  bliss  for  ever, 
Lochlin,*  appalled,  shall  put  up  her  steel, 
And  thou  shalt  embark  on  the  bounding  keel  7 
Safe  shalt  thou  pass  through  her  hundred  ships. 

With  the  Saint  and  a  remnaat  of  the  Gael, 
And  the  Lord  will  instruct  thy  lips 

To  preach  in  Innisfail."t 

The  sun,  now  about  to  set, 

Was  burning  o'er  Tiriee, 
And  no  gathering  cry  rose  yet 

O'er  the  isles  of*  Albyn's  sea, 
Whilst  Reullura  saw  far  rowers  dip 

Their  oars  beneath  the  sun. 
And  the  phantom  of  many  a  Danish  ship, 

Where  ship  there  yet  was  none. 
And  the  shield  of  alarmf  was  dumb, 
Nor  did  their  warning  till  midnight  come. 
When  watchfires  burst  from  across  the  main 

From  Rona  and  TJist  and  Skey, 
To  tell  that  the  ships  of  the  Dane 

And  the  red-haired  slayers  were  nigh. 

Our  islemen  arose  from  slumbers, 

And  buckled  on  their  arms  ; 
But  few,  alas  !  were  their  numbers 

To  Lochlin's  mailed  swarms. 
And  the  blade  of  the  bloody  Norse 

Has  filled  the  shores  of  the  Gael 
With  many  a  floating  corse, 

And  with  many  a  woman's  wail. 
They  have  lighted  the  islands  with  ruin's  torch 
And  the  holy  men  of  lona's  church 

*  Denmark.  t  Ireland. 

*  Striking  the  shield  was  an  ancient  mode  of  convocation  to  war 
among  the  Gael. 


POEMS.  181 

In  the  temple  of  God  lay  slain  ; 

All  but  Aodh,  the  last  culdee, 
But  bound  with  many  an  iron  chain, 

Bound  in  that  church  was  he. 

And  where  is  Aodh's  bride  ? 

Rocks  of  the  ocean  flood ! 
Plunged  she  not  from  your  heights  in  pride. 

And  mocked  the  men  of  blood  ? 
Then  Ulvfagre  and  his  bands 

In  the  temple  lighten  their  banquet  up, 
And  the  print  of  their  blood-red  hands 

Was  left  on  the  altar  cup. 
'Twas  then  that  the  Norseman  to  Aodh  said, 
"  Tell  where  thy  church's  treasure's  laid, 
Or  I'll  hew  thee  limb  from  limb.3' 

As  he  spoke  the  bell  struck  three, 
And  every  torch  grew  dim 

That  lighted  their  revelry. 

But  the  torches  again  burnt  bright, 

And  brighter  than  before, 
When  an  aged  man  of  majestic  height 

Entered  the  temple  door. 
Hushed  was  the  reveller's  sound, 

They  were  struck  as  mute  as  the  dead. 
And  their  hearts  were  appalled  by  the  very  sound 

Of  his  footstep's  measured  tread. 
Nor  word  was  spoken  by  one  beholder,  [der, 

While  he  flung  his  white  robe  back  on  his  shoul- 
And  stretching  his  arms — as  eath 

Unriveted  Aodh's  bands, 
As  if  the  gyves  had  been  a  wreath 

Of  willows  in  his  hands. 

All  saw  the  stranger's  similitude 
To  the  ancient  statue's  form ; 


182 


The  Saint  before  his  own  image  stood, 

And  grasped  Ulvfagre's  arm. 
Then  uprose  the  Danes  at  last  to  deliver 

Their  chief,  and  shouting  with  one  accord, 
They  drew  the  shaft  from  its  rattling  quiver, 

They  lifted  the  spear  and  sword. 
And  levelled  their  spears  in  rows. 
But  down  went  axes  and  spears  and  bows, 
When  the  Saint  with  his  crosier  signed, 

The  archer's  hand  on  the  string  was  stopt, 
And  down,  like  reeds  laid  flat  by  the  wind, 

Their  lifted  weapons  dropt. 

The  Saint  then  gave  a  signal  mute, 

And  though  Ulvfagre  willed  it  not, 
He  came  and  stood  at  the  statue's  foot, 

Spell-riveted  to  the  spot, 
Till  hands  invisible  shook  the  wall, 

And  the  torturing  image  was  dashed 
Down  from  its  lofty  pedestal. 

On  Ulvfagre's  helm  it  crashed — 
Helmet,  and  skull,  and  flesh,  and  brain, 
It  crushed  as  millstone  crushes  the  grain. 
Then  spoke  the  Saint,  whilst  all  and  each 

Of  the  Heathen  trembled  round, 
And  the  pauses  amidst  his  speech 

Were  as  awful  as  the  sound : 

"  Go  back,  ye  wolves,  to  your  dens,"  (he  cried,) 

"  And  tell  the  nations  abroad, 
How  the  fiercest  of  your  herd  has  died 

That  slaughtered  the  flock  of  God. 
Gather  him  bone  by  bone, 

And  take  with  you  o'er  the  flood 
The  fragments  of  that  avenging  stone 

That  drank  his  heathen  blood. 


CAMPBELL'S  POEMS.  183 

These  are  the  spoils  from  lona's  sack, 
The  only  spoils  ye  shall  carry  back ; 
For  the  hand  that  uplifteth  spear  or  sword 

Shall  be  withered  by  palsy's  shock, 
And  I  come  in  the  name  of  the  Lord 

To  deliver  a  remnant  of  his  flock." 

A  remnant  was  called  together, 

A  doleful  remnant  of  the  Gael,  [hither 

And  the  Saint  in  the  ship  that  had  brought  him 

Took  the  mourners  to  Innisfail. 
Unscathed  they  left  lona's  strand, 

When  the  opal  morn  first  flushed  the  sky, 
For  the  Norse  dropt  spear,  and  bow,  and  brand, 

And  looked  on  them  silently  ; 
Safe  from  their  hiding-places  came 
Orphans  and  mothers,  child  and  dame  : 
But,  alas  !  when  the  search  of  Reullura  spread, 

No  answering  voice  was  given, 
For  the  sea  had  gone  o'er  her  lovely  head, 

And  her  spirit  was  in  heaven. 


NOTES 

ON   THE 

PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 

PART    I. 

Note  (a)  And  such  thy  strength-inspiring  aid  that  bore 
The  hardy  Byron  to  his  native  shore. 

The  following  picture  of  his  own  distress,  given  by 
Byron  in  his  simple  and  interesting  narrative,  justifies 
the  description  in  page  10. 

After  relating  the  barbarity  of  the  Indian  cacique  to 
his  child,  he  proceeds  thus  : — "  A  day  or  two  after,  we 
put  to  sea  again,  and  crossed  the  great  bay  I  mentioned 
we  had  been  at  the  bottom  of  when  we  first  hauled  away 
to  the  westward.  The  land  here  was  very  low  and 
sandy,  and  something  like  the  mouth  of  a  river  which 
discharged  itself  into  the  sea,  and  which  had  been  taken 
no  notice  of  by  us  before,  as  it  was  so  shallow  that  the 
"Indians  were  obliged  to  take  every  thing  out  of  their 
canoes,  and  carry  it  over  land.  We  rowed  up  the  river 
four  or  five  leagues,  and  then  took  into  a  branch  of  it 
that  ran  first  to  the  eastward,  and  then  to  the  northward  ; 
here  it  became  much  narrower,  and  the  stream  exces- 
sively rapid,  so  that  we  gained  but  little  way,  though  we 
wrought  very  hard.  At  night  we  landed  upon  its  banks, 
and  had  a  most  uncomfortable  lodging,  it  being  a  perfect 
swamp ;  and  we  had  nothing  to  cover  us,  though  it  rain- 
ed excessively.  The  Indians  were  little  better  off  than 
we,  as  there  was  no  wood  here  to  make  their  wigwams  ; 
so  that  all  they  could  do  was  to  prop  up  the  bark,  which 
they  carry  in  the  bottom  of  their  canoes,  and  shelter 
themselves  as  well  as  they  could  to  the  leeward  of  it, 
Knowing  the  difficulties  they  had  to  encounter  here,  they 
had  provided  themselves  with  some  seal ;  but  we  had 
not  a  morsel  to  eat,  after  the  heavy  fatigues  of  the  day, 
excepting  a  sort  of  root  we  saw  the  Indians  make  use  oY> 


2  NOTES. 

which  was  very  disagreeable  to  the  taste.  We  laboured 
all  next  day  against  the  stream,  and  fared  as  we  had  done 
the  day  before.  The  next  day  brought  us  to  the  carry- 
ing place.  Here  was  plenty  of  wood,  but  nothing  to  be 
got  for  sustenance.  We  passed  this  night  as  we  had 
frequently  done,  under  a  tree ;  but  what  we  suffered  at 
this  time  is  not  easy  to  be  expressed.  I  had  been  three 
days  at  the  oar,  without  any  kind  of  nourishment  except 
the  wretched  root  above  mentioned.  I  had  no  shirt,  for 
it  had  rotted  off  by  bits.  All  my  clothes  consisted  of  a 
short  grieko,  (something  like  a  bear-skin,)  a  piece  of 
red  cloth  which  had  once  been  a  waistcoat,  and  a 
ragged  pair  of  trowsers,  without  shoes  or  stockings." 

Note  (6.)     A  Briton  and  a  friend. 
Don  Patricio  Gedd,  a  Scotch  physician  in  one  of  the 
Spanish  settlements,  hospitably  relieved  Byron  and  his 
wretched  associates,  of  which  the  Commodore  speaks 
in  the  warmest  terms  of  gratitude. 

Note  (c.)     Or  yield  the  lyre  of  heaven  another  string 

The  seven  strings  of  Apollo's  harp  were  the  symboli- 
cal representation  of  the  seven  planets.  Herschel,  by 
discovering  an  eighth,  might  be  said  to  add  another 
string  to  the  instrument. 

Note  (d.)     The  Swedish  sage.  Linnaeus. 

Note  (e.)  Deep  from  his  vaults  the  Loxian  murmurs  flow. 

Loxias   is  a  name  frequently  given  to  Apollo  by 
Greek  writers :  it  is  met  with  more  than  once  in  the 
Choepnorae  of  ^Eschylus. 
Note  (/.)  Unlocks  a  generous  store  at  thy  command, 

Like  HorcVs  rock  beneath  the  prophet's  hand. 

See  Exodus,  chap.  xvii.  3,  5,  6. 

Note  (i.)     Wild  Obi  flies. 

Among  the  negroes  of  the  West  Indies,  Obi  or  Obiah 
is  the  name  of  a  magical  power,  which  is  believed  by 
them  to  affect  the  object  of  its  malignity  with  dismal 
calamities.  Such  a  belief  must  undoubtedly  have  been 
deduced  from  the  superstitious  mythology  of  their  kins- 
men on  the  coast  of  Africa.  I  have  therefore  personified 
Obi  as  the  evil  spirit  of  the  African,  although  the  his- 
tory of  the  African  tribes  mentions  the  evil  spirit  qf 
their  religious  creed  by  a  different  appellation. 


NOTES.  3 

Note  (g.)     Sibir's  dreary  mines. 
Mr.  Bell  of  Antermony,  in  his  travels  through  Sibe- 
ria, informs  us  that  the  name  of  the  country  is  univer- 
sally pronounced  Sibir  by  the  Russians. 

Note  (/i.)  Presaging  wrath  to  Poland — and  to  man  ! 
The  history  of  the  partition  of  Poland,  of  the  massa- 
cre in  the  suburbs  of  Warsaw,  and  on  the  bridge  of 
Prague,  the  triumphant  entry  of  Suwarrow  into  the 
Polish  capital,  and  the  insult  offered  to  human  nature, 
by  the  blasphemous  thanks  offered  up  to  Heaven,  for 
victories  obtained  over  men  fighting  in  the  sacred  cause 
of  liberty,  by  murderers  and  oppressors,  are  events 
generally  known. 

Note  (fe.)     The  shrill  horn  blew. 
The  negroes  in  the  West  Indies  are  summoned  to 
their  morning  work  by  a  shell  or  a  horn. 

Note  (0    How  long  was  Timour's  iron  sceptre  swayed  ? 

To  elucidate  this  passage,  I  shall  subjoin  a  quotation 
from  the  Preface  to  letters  from  a  Hindoo  Rajah,  a 
work  of  elegance  and  celebrity. 

"  The  impostor  of  Mecca  had  established,  as  one  of 
the  principles  of  his  doctrine,  the  merit  of  extending  it, 
either  by  persuasion,  or  the  sword,  to  all  parts  of  the 
earth.  How  steadily  this  injunction  was  adhered  to  by 
his  followers,  and  with  what  success  it  was  pursued, 
is  well  known  to  all  who  are  in  the  least  conversant  in 
history. 

"  The  same  overwhelming  torrent,  which  had  inun- 
dated the  greater  part  of  Africa,  burst  its  way  into  the 
very  heart  of  Europe,  and  covered  many  kingdoms  of 
Asia  with  unbounded  desolation,  directed  its  baleful 
course  to  the  flourishing  provinces  of  Hindostan.  Here 
these  fierce  and  hardy  adventurers,  whose  only  im- 
provement had  been  in  the  science  of  destruction,  who 
added  the  fury  of  fanaticism  to  the  ravages  of  war, 
found  the  great  end  of  their  conquests  opposed  by  ob- 
jects which  neither  the  ardour  of  their  persevering  zeal, 
nor  savage  barbarity  could  surmount.  Multitudes  were 
sacrificed  by  the  cruel  hand  of  religious  persecution, 
and  whole  countries  were  deluged  in  blood,  in  the  vain 
hope,  that  by  the  destruction  of  a  part,  the  remainder 


4  NOTES. 

might  be  persuaded,  or  terrified,  into  the  profession  of 
Mahomedanism ;  but  all  these  sanguinary  efforts  were 
ineffectual ;  and  at  length,  being  fully  convinced,  that 
though  they  might  extirpate,  they  could  never  hope  to 
convert  any  number  of  the  Hindoos,  they  relinquished 
the  impracticable  idea,  with  which  they  had  entered 
upon  their  career  of  conquest,  and  contented  themselves 
with  the  acquirement  of  the  civil  dominion  and  almost 
universal  empire  of  Hindostan." 

Letters  from  a  Hindoo  Rajah,  by  Eliza  Hamilton. 

Note  (ra.)    Jlnd  braved  the  stormy  spirit  of  the  Cape. 
See  the  description  of  the  Cape  of  Good  HopCj  trans- 
lated from  Camoens,  by  Mickle. 

Note  (n.)  While  famished  nations  died  along  the  shore. 
The  following  account  of  the  British  conduct,  and  its 
consequences,  in  Bengal,  will  afford  a  sufficient  idea  of 
the  fact  alluded  to  in  this  passage.  After  describing  the 
monopoly  of  salt,  betel  nut,  and  tobacco,  the  historian 
proceeds  thus  : — "  Money  in  this  current  came  but  b/ 
drops ;  it  could  not  quench  the  thirst  of  those  who  wait- 
ed in  India  to  receive  it.  An  expedient,  such  as  it  was, 
remained  to  quicken  its  pace.  The  natives  could  live 
with  little  salt,  but  could  not  want  food.  Some  of  the 
agents  saw  themselves  well  situated  for  collecting  the 
rice  into  stores  :  they  did  so.  They  knew  the  Gentoos 
would  rather  die  than  violate  the  principles  of  their  re- 
ligion by  eating  flesh.  The  alternative  would  therefore 
be  between  giving  what  they  had  or  dying.  The  inha- 
bitants sunk ; — they  that  cultivated  the  land,  and  saw 
the  harvest  at  the  disposal  of  others,  planted  in  doubt — • 
scarcity  ensued.  Then  the  monopoly  was  easier  managed 
— sickness  ensued.  In  some  districts  the  languid  living 
left  the  bodies  of  their  numerous  dead  unburied." 

Short  History  of  English  Transactions  in  the 
East  Indies,  page  145. 

Note  (o.)  Nine  times  hath  Brani^s  wheels  of  lightning 

hurled 

His  awful  presence  o'er  the  prostrate  world! 
Among  the  sublime  fictions  of  the  Hindoo  mythology, 
it  is  one  article  of  belief,  that  the  Deity  Brama  has  de- 
scended nine  times  upon  the  world  in  various  forms,  and 


NOTES.  5 

that  he  is  yet  to  appear  a  tenth  time,  in  the  figure  of  a 
warrior  upon  a  white  horse,  to  cut  off  all  incorrigible  of- 
fenders. Avater  is  the  word  used  to  express  his  descent. 

Note  (p.)  And  Camdeo  bright,  and  Ganesa  sublime. 

Camdeo  is  the  God  of  Love  in  the  mythology  of  the 
Hindoos.  Ganesa  and  Seriswattee  correspond  to  the 
Pagan  deities  Janus  and  Minerva. 


NOTES 

ON  TH& 

PLEASURES  OF  HOPE. 

PART    II. 

Note  (a.)     The  noon  of  Manhood  to  a  myrtle  shade ! 
Sacred  to  Venus  is  the  myrtle  shade. — Dryden. 

Note  (6.)     Thy  woes,  Jlrion  ! 

Falconer  in  his  poem,  The  Shipwreck,  speaks  of  him- 
self by  the  name  of  Arion. — See  Falconer's  Shipwreck, 
Canto  III. 

Note  (c.)     The  robber  Moor. 
See  Schiller's  tragedy  of  the  Robbers,  scene  v. 
Note  (c?.)  What  millions  died  that  Caesar  might  be  great. 
The  carnage  occasioned  by  the  wars  of  Julius  Caesar 
has  been  usually  estimated  at  two  millions  of  men. 

Note  (e.)  Or  learn  the  fate  that  bleeding  thousands  bore, 
Marched  by  their  Charles  to  Dneiper's  swampy 

shore. 

In  this  extremity,  (says  the  biographer  of  Charles 
XII.  of  Sweden,  speaking  of  his  military  exploits  before 
the  battle  of  Pultowa,)  the  memorable  winter  of  1709, 
which  was  still  more  remarkable  in  that  part  of  Europe 
than  in  France,  destroyed  numbers  of  his  troops :  for 
Charles  resolved  to  brave  the  seasons  as  he  had  done 


6  NOTES. 

his  enemies,  and  ventured  to  make  long  marches  during 

this  mortal  cold.  It  was  in  one  of  these  marches  that  two 

thousand  men  fell  down  dead  with  cold  before  his  eyes. 

Note  (/.)    As  on  loncfs  height. 

The  natives  of  the  island  of  lona  have  an  opinion, 
that  on  certain  evenings  every  year,  the  tutelary  saint 
Columba  is  seen  on  the  top  of  the  church  spires  count- 
ing the  surrounding  islands,  to  see  that  they  have  not 
been  sunk  by  the  power  of  witchcraft. 

Note  (g.)    And  part,  like  Ajut, — never  to  return ! 
See  the  history  of  Ajut  and  Anningait  in  the  Rambler. 


NOTES 

ON 

GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 

PART    I. 

Stanza  3. 1.  6. 

From  merry  mock-bird's  song. 

The  mocking  bird  is  of  the  form,  but  larger,  than  the 
thrush ;  and  the  colours  are  a  mixture  of  black,  white, 
and  gray.  What  is  said  of  the  nightingale,  by  its 
greatest  admirers,  is,  what  may  with  more  propriety 
apply  to  this  bird,  who,  in  a  natural  state,  sings  with 
very  superior  taste.  Towards  evening  I  have  heard 
one  begin  softly,  reserving  its  breath  to  swell  certain 
notes,  which,  by  this  means,  had  a  most  astonishing  ef- 
fect. A  gentleman  in  London  had  one  of  these  birds  for 
six  years.  During  the  space  of  a  minute  he  was  heard 
to  imitate  the  woodlark,  chaffinch,  blackbird,  thrush, 
and  sparrow.  In  this  country  (America)  I  have  fre- 
quently known  the  mockingbirds  so  engaged  in  this  mi- 
mickry,  that  it  was  with  much  difficulty  I  could  ever 
obtain  an  opportunity  of  hearing  their  own  natural  note* 


NOTES.  7 

Some  go  so  far  as  to  say,  that  they  have  neither  pecu- 
liar notes,  nor  favourite  imitations.  This  may  be  de- 
nied. Their  few  natural  notes  resemble  those  of  the 
(European)  nightingale.  Their  song,  however,  has  a 
greater  compass  a*id  volume  than  the  nightingales',  and 
they  have  the  faculty  of  varying  all  intermediate  notes 
in  a  manner  which  is  truly  delightful. — Jlshe's  Travels 
in  America,  Vol.  II.  p.  73. 

Stanza  5.  /.  9. 

Or  distant  isles  that  hear  the  loud  Corbrechtan  roar. 

The  Corybrechtan,  or  Corbrechtan,  is  a  whirlpool  on 
the  western  coast  of  Scotland,  near  the  island  of  Jura, 
which  is  heard  at  a  prodigious  distance.  Its  name  signi- 
fies the  whirlpool  of  the  prince  of  Denmark ;  and  there 
is  a  tradition  that  a  Danish  prince  once  undertook,  for  a 
wager,  to  cast  anchor  in  it.  He  is  said  to  have  used 
woollen  instead  of  hempen  ropes,  for  greater  strength, 
but  perished  in  the  attempt.  On  the  shores  of  Argyle- 
shire  I  have  often  listened  with  great  delight  to  the  sound 
of  this  vortex,  at  the  distance  of  many  leagues.  When 
the  weather  is  calm,  and  the  adjacent  sea  scarcely  heard 
on  these  picturesque  shores,  its  sound,  which  is  like  the 
sound  of  innumerable  chariots,  creates  a  magnificent 
and  fine  effect. 

Stanza  13. 1  4. 
Of  buskined  limb  and  swarthy  lineament. 

In  the  Indian  tribes  there  is  a  great  similarity  in  their 
colour,  stature,  &c.  They  are  all,  except  the  Snake  In- 
dians, tall  in  stature,  straight  and  robust.  It  is  very  sel- 
dom they  are  deformed,  which  has  given  rise  to  the  sup- 
position that  they  put  to  death  their  deformed  children. 
Their  skin  is  of  a  copper  colour;  their  eyes  large,  bright, 
black,  and  sparkling,  indicative  of  a  subtle  and  discern- 
ing mind  :  their  hair  is  of  the  same  colour,  and  prone  to 
be  long,  seldom  or  never  curled.  Their  teeth  are  large 
and  white ;  I  never  observed  any  decayed  among  them, 
which  makes  their  breath  as  sweet  as  the  air  they  inhale. 
— Travels  through  America  by  Captains  Lewis  and 
Clarke,  in  1804-5-6. 

Stanza  14.  /.  6. 
Peace  be  to  thee — my  words  this  belt  approve. 

The  Indians  of  North  America  accompany  every 


8  NOTES. 

formal  address  to  strangers,  with  whom  they  form  or  re- 
cognize a  treaty  of  amity,  with  a  present  of  a  string,  or 
belt,  of  wampum.  Wampum  (says  Cadwa!lader  Col- 
den)  is  made  of  the  large  whelk  shell,  Brincinium.  and 
shaped  like  long  beads :  it  is  the  current  money  of  the 
Indians.^— History  of  the  five  Indian  Nations,  page  34, 
New- York  edition. 

Stanza  14. 1  7. 
The  paths  of  peace  my  steps  have  hither  led. 

In  relating  an  interview  of  Mohawk  Indians  with  the 
governor  of  New- York,  Golden  quotes  the  following  pas- 
sages as  a  specimen  of  their  metaphorical  manner: 
"  Where  shall  I  seek  the  chair  of  peace  ?  Where  shall  I 
find  it  but  upon  our  path  ?  and  whither  doth  our  path  lead 
us  but  unto  this  house  ?" 

Stanza  15. 1  2. 
Our  wampum  league  thy  brethren  did  embrace. 

When  they  solicit  the  alliance,  offensive  or  defensive, 
of  a  whole  nation,  they  send  an  embassy  with  a  large 
belt  of  wampum  and  a  bloody  hatchet,  inviting  them  to 
come  and  drink  the  blood  of  their  enemies.  The  wam- 
pum made  use  of  on  these  and  other  occasions  before 
their  acquaintance  with  the  Europeans,  was  nothing  but 
small  shells  which  they  picked  up  by  the  seacoasts,  and 
on  the  banks  of  the  lakes ;  and  now  it  is  nothing  but  a 
kind  of  cj'lindrical  beads,  made  of  shells,  white  and 
black,  which  are  esteemed  among  them  as  silver  and 
gold  are  among  us.  The  black  they  call  the  most  valu- 
able, and  both  together  are  their  greatest  riches  and  or- 
naments ;  these  among  them  answering  all  the  end  that 
money  does  among  us.  They  have  the  art  of  stringing, 
twisting,  and  interweaving  them  into  their  belts,  collars, 
blankets,  and  moccasins,  &c.,  in  ten  thousand  different 
sizes,  forms,  and  figures,  so  as  to  be  ornaments  for  every 
part  of  dress,  and  expressive  to  them  of  all  their  impor- 
tant transactions.  They  dye  the  wampum  of  various  co- 
lours and  shades,  and  mix  and  dispose  them  with  great 
ingenuity  and  order,  and  so  as  to  be  significant  among 
themselves  of  almost  every  thing  they  please  ;  so  that  by 
these  their  words  are  kept,  and  their  thoughts  communi- 
cated to  one  another,  as  ours  are  by  writing.  The  belts 


NOTES.  9 

that  pass  from  one  nation  to  another  in  all  treaties,  decla- 
rations, and  important  transactions,  are  very  carefully 
preserved  in  the  cabins  of  their  chiefs,  and  serve  not  only 
as  a  kind  of  record  or  history,  but  as  a  public  treasure. 
— Major  Rogers's  account  of  North  America. 

Stanza  17.  /.  5. 
Jls  when  the  evil  Manitou. 

It  is  certain  that  the  Indians  acknowledge  one  supreme 
being,, or  giver  of  life,  who  presides  over  all  things ;  that 
is  the  Great  Spirit:  and  they  look  up  to  him  as  the  source 
of  good  from  whence  no  evil  can  proceed.  They  also 
believe  in  a  bad  Spirit,  to  whom  they  ascribe  great  pow- 
er ;  and  suppose  that  through  his  power  all  the  evils 
which  befall  mankind  are  inflicted.  To  him  therefore 
they  pray  in  their  distresses,  begging  that  he  would 
either  avert  their  troubles,  or  moderate  them  when  they 
are  no  longer  avoidable. 

They  hold  also  that  there  are  good  spirits  of  a  lower 
degree,  who  have  their  particular  departments,  in  which 
they  are  constantly  contributing  to  the  happiness  of  mor- 
tals. These  they  suppose  to  preside  over  all  the  extra- 
ordinary productions  of  Nature,  such  as  those  lakes,  ri- 
vers and  mountains  that  are  of  an  uncommon  magnitude; 
nud  likewise  the  beasts,  birds,  fishes,  and  even  vegeta- 
bles or  stones  that  exceed  the  rest  of  their  species  in  size 
or  singularity. —  Clarke's  Travels  among  the  Indians. 

The  supreme  Spirit  of  good  is  called  by  the  Indians 
Kitchi  Manitou;  and  the  Spirit  of  evil  Matchi  Manitou. 

Stanza  19.  J.  2. 
Feverbalm  and  sweet  sagamite. 

The  feverbalm  is  a  medicine  used  by  these  tribes  ;  it 
is  a  decoction  of  a  bush  called  the  Fevertree.  Sagamite 
is  a  kind  of  soup  administered  to  their  sick. 

Stanza  20. 1  2. 

And  I,  the  eagle  of  my  tribe,  have  rushed 
With  this  lorn  dove. — 

The  testimony  of  all  travellers  among  the  American 
Indians,  who  mention  their  hieroglyphics,  authorizes  me 
in  putting  this  figurative  language  in  the  mouth  of  Outa- 
lissi.  The  dove  is  among  them,  as  elsewhere,  an  emblem 
of  meekness  ;  and  tho  eagle,  that  of  a  bold,  noble,  and 
R 


10  NOTES. 

liberal  mind.  When  the  Indians  speak  of  a  warrior 
who  soars  above  the  multitude  in  person  and  endow- 
ments, they  say,  "  he  is  like  the  eagle  who  destroys  his 
enemies,  and  gives  protection  and  abundance  to  the  weak 
of  his  own  tribe. 

Stanza  23.  I  2. 
Far  differently  the  mute  Oneida  took,  &c. 

They  are  extremely  circumspect  and  deliberate  in 
every  word  and  action ;  nothing  hurries  them  into  any 
intemperate  wrath,  but  that  inveteracy  to  their  enemies 
which  is  rooted  in  every  Indian's  breast.  In  all  other  in- 
stances they  are  cool  and  deliberate,  taking  care  to  sup- 
press the  emotions  of  the  heart.  If  an  Indian  has  disco- 
vered that  a  friend  of  his  is  in  danger  of  being  cut  off  by 
a  lurking  enemy,  he  does  not  tell  him  of  his  danger  in 
direct  terms  as  though  he  were  in  fear,  but  he  first  coolly 
asks  him  which  way  he  is  going  that  day,  and  having  his 
answer  with  the  same  indifference,  tells  him  that  he  has 
been  informed  that  a  noxious  beast  lies  on  the  route  he  is 
going.  This  hint  proves  sufficient,  and  his  friend  avoids 
the  danger  with  as  much  caution  as  though  every  design 
and  motion  of  his  enemy  had  been  pointed  out  to  him. 

If  an  Indian  has  been  engaged  for  several  days  in  the 
chase,  and  by  accident  continued  long  without  food, 
when  he  arrives  at  the  hut  of  a  friend,  where  he  knows 
that  his  wants  will  be  immediately  supplied,  he  takes 
care  not  to  show  the  least  symptoms  of  impatience,  or 
betray  the  extreme  hunger  that  he  is  tortured  with;  but 
on  being  invited  in,  sits  contentedly  down  and  smokes 
his  pipe  with  as  much  composure  as  if  his  appetite  was 
cloyed  and  he  was  perfectly  at  ease.  He  does  the  same 
if  among  strangers.  This  custom  is  strictly  adhered  to 
by  every  tribe,  as  they  esteem  it  a  proof  of  fortitude, 
and  think  the  reverse  would  entitle  them  to  the  appel- 
lation of  old  women. 

If  you  tell  an  Indian  that  his  children  have  greatly 
signalized  themselves  against  an  enemy,  have  taken 
many  scalps,  and  brought  home  many  prisoners,  he  does 
not  appear  to  feel  any  strong  emotions  of  pleasure  on 
the  occasion ;  his  answer  generally  is — "  they  have  done 
well ;"  and  makes  but  very  little  inquiry  about  the  mat- 
ter ;  on  the  contrary,  if  you  inform  him  that  his  children 


NOTES.  11 

are  slain  or  taken  prisoners,  he  makes  no  complaints : 
he  only  replies,  "  it  is  unfortunate ;" — and  for  some  time 
asks  no  questions  about  how  it  happened. — Lewis  and 
Clarke's  Travels. 

Stanza  23. 1  3. 
His  calumet  of  peace,  fyc. 

Nor  is  the  calumet  of  less  importance  or  less  revered 
than  the  wampum  in  many  transactions  relative  both  to 
peace  and  war.  The  bowl  of  this  pipe  is  made  of  a 
kind  of  soft  red  stone,  which  is  easily  wrought  and  hol- 
lowed out ;  the  stem  is  of  cane,  elder,  or  some  kind  of 
light  wood,  painted  with  different  colours,  and  decorated 
with  the  heads,  tails  and  feathers  of  the  most  beautiful 
birds.  The  use  of  the  calumet  is  to  smoke  either  to- 
bacco or  some  bark,  leaf,  or  herb,  which  they  often  use 
instead  of  it,  when  they  enter  into  an  alliance  or  any 
serious  occasion  or  solemn  engagements  ;  this  being 
among  them  the  most  sacred  oath  that  can  be  taken,  the 
violation  of  which  is  esteemed  most  infamous,  and  de- 
serving of  severe  punishment  from  Heaven.  When  they 
treat  of  war,  the  whole  pipe  and  all  its  ornaments  are 
red,  sometimes  it  is  red  only  on  one  side,  and  by  the  dis- 
position of  the  feathers,  &,c.  one  acquainted  with  their 
customs  will  know  at  first  sight  what  the  nation  who 
presents  it  intends  or  desires.  Smoking  the  calumet  is 
also  a  religious  ceremony  on  some  occasions,  and  in  all 
treaties  is  considered  as  a  witness  between  the  parties, 
or  rather  as  an  instrument  by  which  they  invoke  the  sun 
and  moon  to  witness  their  sincerity,  and  to  be  as  it  were 
a  guarantee  of  the  treaty  between  them.  This  custom 
of  the  Indians,  though  to  appearance  somewhat  ridicu- 
lous, is  not  without  its  reasons ;  for  as  they  find  that 
smoking  tends  to  disperse  the  vapours  of  the  brain,  to 
raise  the  spirits,  and  to  qualify  them  for  thinking  and 
judging  properly,  they  introduced  it  into  their  councils, 
where,  after  their  resolves,  the  pipe  was  considered  as 
a  seal  of  their  decrees  ;  and,  as  a  pledge  of  their  per- 
formance thereof,  it  was  sent  to  those  they  were  con- 
sulting, in  alliance  or  treaty  with ; — so  that  smoking 
among  them  at  the  same  pipe,  is  equivalent  to  our 


12  NOTES. 

drinking  together  and  out  of  the  same  cup. — Mhjor 
Rogers's  Account  of  North  America,  1766. 

The  lighted  calumet  is  also  used  among  them  for  a 
purpose  still  more  interesting  than  the  expression  of  so- 
cial friendship.  The  austere  manners  of  the  Indians  for- 
bid any  appearance  of  gallantry  between  the  sexes  in 
daytime ;  but  at  night  the  young  lover  goes  a  calumet- 
ting,  as  his  courtship  is  called.  As  these  people  live  in 
a  state  of  equality,  and  without  fear  of  internal  violence 
or  theft  in  their  own  tribes,  they  leave  their  doors  open 
by  night  as  well  as  by  day.  The  lover  takes  advantage 
of  this  liberty,  lights  his  calumet,  enters  the  cabin  of 
,his  mistress,  and  gently  presents  it  to  her.  If  she  ex- 
tinguishes it,  she  admits  his  addresses ;  but  if  she  suf- 
fers it  to  burn  unnoticed,  he  retires  with  a  disappointed 
and  throbbing  heart. — Jlshe's  Travels. 

Stanza  23.  L  6. 
Trained  from  his  tree-rocked  cradle  to  his  bier. 

An  Indian  child,  as  soon  as  he  is  born,  is  swathed 
with  clothes,  or  skins,  and  being  laid  on  its  back,  is 
bound  down  on  a  piece  of  thick  board,  spread  over  with 
soft  moss.  The  board  is  somewhat  larger  and  broader 
than  the  child,  and  bent  pieces  of  wood,  like  pieces  of 
hoops,  are  placed  over  its  face  to  protect  it ;  so  that  if 
the  machine  were  suffered  to  fall,  the  child  probably 
would  not  be  injured.  When  the  women  have  any 
Business  to  transact  at  home,  they  hang  the  board  on  a 
tree,  if  there  be  one  at  hand,  and  set  them  a  swinging 
from  side  to  side,  like  a  pendulum,  in  order  to  exercise 
the  children.—  Weld,  Vol.  II.  p.  246. 

Stanza  23.  I  7. 

The  fierce  extremes  of  good  and  ill  to  brook 
Impassive — 

Of  the  active  as  well  as  the  passive  fortitude  of  the 
Indian  character,  the  following  is  an  instance  related 
by  Adair  in  his  travels. 

A  party  of  the  Seneca  Indians  came  to  war  against 
the  Katahba,  bitter  enemies  to  each  other. — In  the 
woods  the  former  discovered  a  sprightly  warrior  be- 
longing to  the  latter,  hunting  in  their  usual  light  dress  : 
on  his  perceiving  them,  he  sprung  off  for  a  hollow  rock 


NOTES  IS 

four  or  five  miles  distant,  as  they  intercepted  him  from 
running  homeward.  He  was  so  extremely  swift  and 
skilful  with  the  gun,  as  to  kill  seven  of  them  in  the  run- 
ning fight  before  they  were  able  to  surround  and  take 
him.  They  carried  him  to  their  country  in  sad  triumph  ; 
but  though  he  had  filled  them  with  uncommon  grief 
and  shame  for  the  loss  of  so  many  of  their  kindred,  yet 
the  love  of  martial  virtue  induced  them  to  treat  him, 
during  their  long  journey,  with  a  great  deal  more  civi- 
lity than  if  he  had  acted  the  part  of  a  coward.  The 
women  and  children  when  they  met  him  at  their  seve- 
ral towns,  beat  and  whipped  him  in  as  severe  a  manner 
as  the  occasion  required,  according  to  their  law  of  jus- 
tice, and  at  last  he  was  formally  condemned  to  die  by 
the  fiery  torture.  It  might  reasonably  be  imagined  that 
what  he  had  for  some  time  gone  through,  by  being  fed 
with  a  scanty  hand,  a  tedious  march,  lying  at  night  on 
the  bare  ground,  exposed  to  the  changes  of  the  weather, 
with  his  arms  and  legs  extended  in  a  pair  of  rough 
stocks,  and  suffering  such  punishment  on  his  entering 
into  their  hostile  towns,  as  a  prelude  to  those  sharp 
torments  for  which  he  was  destined,  would  have  so 
impaired  his  health  and  affected  his  imagination  as  to 
have  sent  him  to  his  long  sleep,  out  of  the  way  of  any 
more  sufferings. — Probably  this  would  have  been  the 
case  with  the  major  part  of  white  people  under  similar 
circumstances  ;  but  I  never  knew  this  with  any  of  the 
Indians :  and  this  cool-headed,  brave  warrior  did  not 
deviate  from  their  rough  lessons  of  martial  virtue^  but 
acted  his  part  so  well  as  to  surprise  and  sorely  vex  his 
numerous  enemies  : — for  when  they  were  taking  him, 
unpinioned,  in  their  wild  parade,  to  the  place  of  torture, 
which  lay  near  to  a  river,  he  suddenly  dashed  down 
those  who  stood  in  his  way,  sprung  off,  and  plunged 
into  the  water,  swimming  underneath  like  an  otter,  only 
rising  to  take  breath,  till  he  reached  the  opposite  shore. 
He  now  ascended  the  steep  bank,  but  though  he  had 
good  reason  to  be  in  a  hurry,  as  many  of  the  enemy 
were  in  the  water,  and  others  running,  very  like  blood 
hounds,  in  pursuit  of  him,  and  the  bullets  flying  around 
him  from  the  time  he  took  to  the  river,  yet  his  heart 
did  not  allow  him  to  leave  them  abruptly,  without 


14  NOTES. 

taking  leave  in  a  formal  manner,  in  return  for  tne  ex 
traordinary  favours  they  had  done,  and  intended  to  do 
him. — After  slapping  a  part  of  his  body,  in  defiance  to 
them  (continues  the  author,)  he  put  up  the  shrill  war- 
\vhoop,  as  his  last  salute,  till  some  more  convenient  op- 
portunity offered,  and  darted  off  in  the  manner  of  a  beast 
broke  lose  from  its  torturing  enemies. — He  continued 
his  speed,  so  as  to  run  by  about  midnight  of  the  same 
day,  as  far  as  his  eager  pursuers  were  two  days  in 
reaching. — There  he  rested,  till  he  happily  discovered 
five  of  those  Indians  who  had  pursued  him : — he  lay 
hid  a  little  way  off  their  camp,  till  they  were  sound 
asleep.  Every  circumstance  of  his  situation  occurred 
to  him,  and  inspired  him  with  heroism. — He  was  naked, 
torn  and  hungry,  and  his  enraged  enemies  were  come 
up  with  him ; — but  there  was  now  every  thing  to  relieve 
his  wants,  and  a  fair  opportunity  to  save  his  life,  and 
get  great  honour  and  sweet  revenge  by  cutting  them  off. 
Resolution,  a  convenient  spot,  and  sudden  surprise, 
would  effect  the  main  object  of  all  his  wishes  and  hopes. 
He  accordingly  creeped,  took  one  of  their  tomahawks, 
and  killed  them  all  on  the  spot — clothed  himself,  took 
a  choice  gun,  and  as  much  ammunition  and  provisions 
as  he  could  well  carry  in  a  running  march.  He  set  off 
afresh  with  a  light  heart,  and  did  not  sleep  for  several 
successive  nights,  only  when  he  reclined,  as  usual,  a 
Jittle  before  day,  with  his  back  to  a  tree.  As  it  were 
by  instinct,  when  he  found  he  was  free  from  the  pur- 
suing enemy,  he  made  directly  to  the  very  place  where 
he  had  killed  seven  of  his  enemies,  and  was  taken  by 
them  for  the  fiery  torture. — He  digged  them  up — burnt 
their  bodies  to  ashes,  and  went  home  in  safety  with 
singular  triumph. — Other  pursuing  enemies  came,  on 
the  evening  of  the  second  day,  to  the  camp  of  their  dead 
people,  when  the  sight  gave  them  a  greater  shock  than 
they  had  ever  known  before.  In  their  chilled  war  coun- 
cil they  concluded,  that  as  he  had  done  such  surprising 
things  in  his  defence  before  he  was  captured,  and  since 
that  in  his  naked  condition,  and  now  was  well  armed, 
if  they  continued  the  pursuit  he  would  spoil  them  all, 
for  he  surely  was  an  enemy  wizard, — and  therefore 


NOTES.  15 

they  returned  home. — Adair's  General  Observations  on 
the  American  Indians,  p.  394. 

It  is  surprising,  says  the  same  author,  to  see  the  long 
continued  speed  of  the  Indians. — Though  some  of  us 
have  often  ran  the  swiftest  of  them  out  of  sight  for 
about  the  distance  of  twelve  miles,  yet  afterwards, 
without  any  seeming  toil,  they  would  stretch  on — leave 
us  out  of  sight,  and  outwind  any  horse. — Ibid.  p.  318. 

If  an  Indian  were  driven  out  into  the  extensive  woods, 
with  onty  a  knife  and  a  tomahawk,  or  a  small  hatchet, 
it  is  not  to  be  doubted  but  he  would  fatten  even  where 
a  wolf  would  starve. — He  would  soon  collect  fire  by 
rubbing  two  pieces  of  wood  together,  make  a  bark  hut, 
earthen  vessels,  and  a  bow  and  arrows  ;  then  kill  wild 
game,  fish,  fresh  water  tortoises,  gather  a  plentiful  va- 
riety of  vegetables,  and  live  in  affluence. — Ibid.  p.  410. 

Stanza  25. 1  1. 

Sleep,  wearied  one !  and  in  the  dreaming  land 
Shouldst  thou  the  spirit  of  thy  mother  greet. 

There  is  nothing  (says  Charlevoix)  in  which  these 
barbarians  carry  their  superstitions  farther,  than  in 
what  regards  dreams ;  but  they  vary  greatly  in  their 
manner  of  explaining  themselves  on  this  point.  Some- 
times it  is  the  reasonable  soul  which  ranges  abroad, 
while  the  sensitive  continues  to  animate  the  '  ••-» -ly. 
Sometimes  it  is  the  familiar  genius  who  gives  saluiary 
counsel  with  respect  to  what  is  going  to  happen.  Some- 
times it  is  a  visit  made  by  the  soul  of  the  object  of 
which  he  dreams.  But  in  whatever  manner  the  dream 
is  conceived,  it  is  always  looked  upon  as  a  thing  sacred, 
and  as  the  most  ordinary  way  in  which  the  gods  make 
known  their  will  to  men. 

Filled  with  this  idea,  they  cannot  conceive  how  we 
should  pay  no  regard  to  them.  For  the  most  part  they 
look  upon  them  either  as  a  desire  of  the  soul,  inspired 
by  some  genius,  or  an  order  from  him,  and  in  conse- 
quence of  this  principle  they  hold  it  a  religious  duty  to 
obey  them.  An  Indian  having  dreamt  of  having  a 
finger  cut  off,  had  it  really  cut  off  as  soon  as  he  awoke, 
having  first  prepared  himself  for  this  important  action 
by  a  feast. — Another  having  dreamt  of  being  a  prisoner, 
and  in  the  hands  of  his  enemies,  was  much  at  a  loss 


16  NOTES. 

what  to  do.  He  consulted  the  jugglers,  and  by  their 
advice  caused  himself  to  be  tied  to  a  post,  and  burnt 
in  several  parts  of  the  body. — Charlevoix,  Journal  of  a 
voyage  to  North  America. 

Stanza  25.  I  5. 

The  crocodile,  the  condor  of  the  rock — 
The  alligator,  or  American  crocodile,  when  full 
grown  (says  Bartram)  is  a  very  large  and  terrible  crea- 
ture, and  of  prodigious  strength,  activity,  and  swiftness 
in  the  water. — I  have  seen  them  twenty  feet  in  length, 
and  some  are  supposed  to  be  twenty-two  or  twenty- 
three  feet  in  length.  Their  body  is  as  large  as  that  of 
a  horse,  their  shape  usually  resembles  that  of  a  lizard, 
which  is  flat,  or  cuneiform,  being  compressed  on  each 
side,  and  gradually  diminishing  from  the  abdomen  to 
the  extremity,  which,  with  the  whole  body,  is  covered 
with  horny  plates,  or  squamae,  impenetrab>j  when  on 
the  body  of  the  live  animal,  even  to  a  rifle  ball,  except 
about  their  head,  and  just  behind  their  fore-legs  or 
arms,  where,  it  is  said,  they  are  only  vulnerable.  The 
head  of  a  full  grown  one  is  about  three  feet,  and  the 
mouth  opens  nearly  the  same  length.  Their  eyes  are 
small  in  proportion,  and  seem  sunk  in  the  head  by 
means  of  the  prominency  of  the  brows ;  the  nostrils  are 
large,  inflated,  and  prominent  on  the  top,  so  that  the 
head  on  the  water  resembles,  at  a  distance,  a  great 
chunk  of  wood  floating  about:  only  the  upper  jaw 
moves,  which  they  raise  almost  perpendicular,  so  as  to 
form  a  right  angle  with  the  lower  one.  In  the  fore  part 
of  the  upper  jaw,  on  each  side,  just  under  the  nostrils, 
are  two  very  large,  thick,  strong  teeth,  or  tusks,  not  very 
sharp,  but  rather  the  shape  of  a  cone :  these  are  as 
white  as  the  finest  polished  ivory,  and  are  not  covered 
by  any  skin  or  lips,  but  always  in  sight,  which  gives  the 
creature  a  frightful  appearance ;  in  the  lower  jaw  are 
holes  opposite  to  these  teeth  to  receive  them;  when 
they  clap  their  jaws  together,  it  causes  a  surprising 
noise,  like  that  which  is  made  by  forcing  a  heavy  plank 
with  violence  upon  the  ground,  and  may  be  heard  at  a 
great  distance. — But  what  is  yet  more  surprising  to  a 
stranger  is  the  incredibly  loud  and  terrifying  roar  which 
they  are  capable  of  making,  especially  in  breeding  time. 


NOTES.  17 

It  most  resembles  very  heavy  distant  thunder,  not  only 
shaking  the  air  and  waters,  but  causing  theN  earth  to 
tremble  ;  and  when  hundreds  are  roaring  at  the  same 
time,  you  can  scarcely  be  persuaded  but  that  the  whole 
globe  is  violently  and  dangerously  agitated. — An  old 
champion,  who  is,  perhaps,  absolute  sovereign  of  a  little 
lake  or  lagoon,  (when  fifty  less  than  himself  are  obliged 
to  content  themselves  with  swelling  and  roaring  in  little 
coves  round  about,)  darts  forth  from  the  reedy  coverts, 
all  at  once,  on  the  surface  of  the  waters  in  a  right  line, 
at  first  seemingly  as  rapid  as  lightning,  but  gradually 
more  slowly,  until  he  arrives  at  the  centre  of  the  lake, 
where  he  st*ops.  He  now  swells  himself,  by  drawing  in 
wind  and  water  through  his  mouth,  which  causes  a  loud 
sonorous  rattling  in  the  throat  for  near  a  minute ;  but  it 
is  immediately  forced  out  again  through  his  mouth  and 
nostrils  with  a  loud  noise,  brandishing  his  tail  in  the 
air,  and  the  vapour  running  from  his  nostrils  like  smoke. 
At  other  times,  when  swoln  to  an  extent  ready  to  burst, 
his  head  and  tail  lifted  up,  he  spins  or  twirls  round  on 
the  surface  of  the  water.  He  acts  his  part  like  an  In- 
dian chief,  when  rehearsing  his  feats  of  war. — Bartram's 
Travels  in  North  America. 

Stanza  28.  I  4. 

Then  forth  uprose  that  lone  ^vay faring  man. 
They  discover  an  amazing  sagacity,  and  acquire, 
with  the  greatest  readiness,  any  thing  that  depends  upon 
the  attention  of  the  mind.  By  experience,  and  an  acute 
observation,  they  attain  many  perfections,  to  which 
Americans  are  strangers. — For  instance,  they  will  cross 
a  forest,  or  a  plain,  which  is  two  hundred  miles  in 
breadth,  so  as  to  reach  with  great  exactness,  the  point 
at  which  they  intend  to  arrive,  keeping,  during  the 
whole  of  that  space,  in  a  direct  line,  without  any  mate- 
rial deviations:  and  this  they  will  do  with  the  same 
ease,  let  the  weather  be  fair  or  cloudy. — With  equal 
acuteness  they  will  point  to  that  part  of  the  heavens  the 
sun  is  in,  though  it  be  intercepted  by  clouds  or  fogs. 
Besides  this,  they  are  able  to  pursue,  with  incredible  fa- 
cility, the  traces  of  man  or  beast,  either  on  leaves  or 
grass;  and  on  this  account  it  is  with  great  difficulty 
they  escape  discovery. — They  are  indebted  for  these  ta- 


18  NOTES. 

lents  not  only  to  natae,  but  to  an  extraordinary  com- 
mand of  the  intellectual  qualities,  which  can  only  be 
acquired  by  an  unremitted  attention,  and  by  long  ex- 
perience.— They  are  in  general  very  happy  in  a  reten- 
tive memory.  They  can  recapitulate  every  particular 
that  has  beert  treated  of  in  council,  and  remember  the 
exact  time  when. they  were  held.  /Their  belts  of  wam- 
pum preserve  the  substance  of  treaties  they  have  con- 
cluded with  the  neighbouring  tribes  for  ages  back :  to 
which  they  will  appeal  and  refer  with  as  much  perspi- 
cuity and  readiness  as  Europeans  can  to  their  written 
records. 

The  Indians  are  totally  unskilled  in  geography,  as 
well  as  all  the  other  sciences,  and  yet  they  draw  on  their 
birch  bark  very  exact  charts  or  maps  of  the  countries 
they  are  acquainted  with. — The  latitude  and  longitude 
only  are  wanting  to  make  them  tolerably  complete. 

Their  sole  knowledge  in  astronomy  consists  in  being 
able  to  point  out  the  -polar  star,  by  which  they  regulate 
their  course  when  they  travel  in  the  night. 

They  reckon  the  distance  of  places  not  by  miles  or 
leagues,  but  by  a  day's  journey,  which,  according  to  the 
best  calculation  I  could  make,  appears  to  be  about 
twenty  English  miles.  These  they  also  divide  into 
halves  and  quarters,  and  will  demonstrate  them  in  their 
maps  with  great  exactness  by  the  hieroglyphics  just 
mentioned,  when  they  regulate  in  council  their  war- 
parties,  or  their  most  distant  hunting  excursions. — 
Clarke's  and  Lewis's  Travels. 

Some  of  the  French  missionaries  have  supposed  that 
the  Indians  are  guided  by  instinct,  and  have  pretended 
that  the  Indian  children  can  find  their  way  through  a 
forest  as  easily  as  a  person  of  maturer  years  ;  but  this 
is  a  most  absurd  notion.  It  is  unquestionably  by  a 
close  attention  to  the  growth  of  the  trees,  and  position 
of  the  sun,  that  they  find  their  way.  On  the  northern 
side  of  a  ttee  there  is  generally  the  most  moss ;  and  the 
bark  on  that  side,  in  general,  differs  from  that  on  the 
opposite  one.  The  branches  towards  the  south  are,  for 
the  most  part,  more  luxuriant  than  those  on  the  other 
sides  of  trees,  and  several  other  distinctions  also  subsist 
between  the  northern  and  southern  sides,  conspicuous 


NOTES.  19 

to  Indians,  being  taught  from  their  infancy  to  attend  to 
them,  which  a  common  observer,  would,  perhaps,  never 
notice.  Being  accustomed  from  their  infancy  likewise 
to  pay  great  attention  to  the  position  of  the  sun,  they 
learn  to  make  the  most  accurate  allowance  for  its  ap- 
parent motion  from  one  part  of  the  heavens  to  another ; 
and  in  every  part  of  the  day  they  will  point  to  the  part 
of  the  heavens  where  it  is,  although  the  sky  be  obscured 
by  clouds  or  mists. 

An  instance  of  their  dexterity  in  finding  their  way 
through  an  unknown  country,  came  under  my  observa- 
tion when  I  was  at  Staunton,  situated  behind  the  Blue 
Mountains,  Virginia.  A  number  of  the  Creek  nation 
had  arrived  at  that  town  on  their  way  to  Philadelphia, 
whither  they  were  going  upon  some  affairs  of  impor- 
tance, and  had  stopped  there  for  the  night.  In  the 
morning  some  circumstance  or  another,  which  could 
not  be  learned,  induced  one  half  of  the  Indians  to  set 
off  without  their  companions,  who  did  not  follow  until 
some  hours  afterwards.  When  these  last  were  ready 
to  pursue  their  journey,  several  of  the  towns  people 
mounted  their  horses  to  escort  them  part  of  the  way. 
They  proceeded  along  the  high  road  for  some  miles, 
but,  all  at  once,  hastily  turning  aside  into  the  woods, 
though  there  was  no  path,  the  Indians  advanced  confi- 
dently forward.  The  people  who  accompanied  them, 
surprised  at  this  movement,  informed  them  that  they 
were  quitting  the  road  to  Philadelphia,  and  expressed 
their  fear  lest  they  should  miss  their  companions  who 
had  gone  on  before.  They  answered  that  they  knew 
better,  that  the  way  through  the  woods  was  the  shortest 
to  Philadelphia,  and  that  they  knew  very  well  that  their 
companions  had  entered  the  wood  at  the  very  place 
where  they  did.  Cariosity  led  some  of  the  horsemen 
to  go  on ;  and  to  their  astonishment,  for  their  was  ap- 
parently no  track,  they  overtook  the  other  Indians  in 
the  thickest  part  of  tne  wood.  But  what  appeared  most 
singular  was,  that  the  route  which  they  took  was  found, 
on  examining  a  map,  to  be  as  direct  for  Philadelphia  as 
if  they  had  taken  the  bearings  by  a  mariner's  compass. 
From  others  of  their  nation,  who  had  been  at  Philadel- 
phia at  a  former  period,  they  had  probably  learned  the 


20  NOTES. 

exact  direction  of  that  city  from  their  villages,  and  had 
never  lost  sight  of  it,  although  they  had  already  travel- 
led three  hundred  miles  through  the  woods,  and  had 
upwards  of  four  hundred  miles  more  to  go  before  they 
could  reach  the  place  of  their  destination.  Of  the  ex- 
actness with  which  they  can  find  out  a  strange  place  to 
which  they  have  been  once  directed  by  their  own  peo- 
ple, a  striking  example  is  furnished,  I  think,  by  Mr. 
Jefferson,  in  his  account  of  the  Indian  graves  in  Virgi- 
nia. These  graves  are  nothing  more  than  large  mounds 
of  earth  in  the  woods,  which,  on  being  opened,  are 
found  to  contain  skeletons  in  an  erect  posture  :  the  In- 
dian mode  of  sepulture  has  been  too  often  described  to 
remain  unknown  to  you.  But  to  come  to  my  story.  A 
party  of  Indians  that  were  passing  on  to  some  of  the 
seaports  on  the  Atlantic,  just  as  the  Creeks,  above- 
mertioned,  were  going  to  Philadelphia,  were  observed, 
all  on  a  sudden,  to  quit  the  straight  road  by  which  they 
were  proceeding,  and  without  asking  any  questions,  to 
strike  through  the  woods,  in  a  direct  line,  to  one  cf  these 
graves,  wThich  lay  at  the  distance  of  some  miles  from 
the  road.  Now  very  near  a  century  must  have  passed 
over  since  the  part  of  Virginia,  in  which  this  grave  was 
situated,  had  been  inhabited  by  Indians,  and  these  In- 
dian travellers,  who  were  to  visit  it  by  themselves,  had 
unquestionably  never  been  in  that  part  of  the  country 
before  :  they  must  have  found  their  way  to  it,  simply 
from  the  description  of  its  situation,  that  had  been 
handed  down  to  them  by  tradition. —  WeWs  Travels  in 
North  America,  Vol.  II. 


*  The  Indian  God  of  War. 


NOTES 

ON 

GERTRUDE  OF  WYOMING. 

PART    III. 

Stanza  16. 1  4. 
The  Mammoth  comes. 

That  I  am  justified  in  making  the  Indian  chief  allude 
to  the  mammoth  as  an  emblem  of  terror  and  destruction, 
will  be  seen  by  the  authority  quoted  below.  Speaking 
of  the  mammoth,  or  big  buffalo,  Mr.  Jefferson  states, 
that  a  tradition  is  preserved  among  the  Indians  of  that 
animal  still  existing  in  the  northern  parts  of  America. 

"  A  delegation  of  warriors  from  the  Delaware  tribe 
having  visited  the  governor  of  Virginia  during  the  re- 
volution, on  matters  of  business,  the  governor  asked 
them  some  questions  relative  to  their  country,  and, 
among  others,  what  they  knew  or  had  heard  of  the  ani- 
mal whose  bones  were  found  at  the  Saltlicks  on  the 
Ohio.  Their  chief  speaker  immediately  put  himself 
into  an  attitude  of  oratory,  and  with  a  pomp  suited  to 
what  he  conceived  the  elevation  of  his  subject,  informed 
him,  that  it  was  a  tradition  handed  down  from  their  fa- 
thers, that  in  ancient  times  a  herd  of  these  tremendous 
animals  came  to  the  Big-bone-licks,  and  began  an  uni- 
versal destruction  of  the  bear,  deer,  elk,  buffalo,  and 
other  animals  which  had  been  created  for  the  use  of  the 
Indians.  That  the  Great  Man  above,  looking  down  and 
seeing  this,  was  so  enraged,  that  he  seized  his  lightning, 
descended  on  earth,  seated  himself  on  a  neighbouring 
mountain  on  a  rock,  of  which  his  seat,  and  the  prints  of 
his  feet,  are  still  to  be  seen,  and  hurled  his  bolts  among 
them,  till  the  whole  were  slaughtered  except  the  big 
bull,  who  presenting  his  forehead  to  the  shafts,  shook 
tfcem  off  as  they  fell,  but,  missing  one  at  length,  it 
wounded  him  on  the  side,  whereon,  springing  round,  he 
bounded  over  the  Ohio,  over  the  W abash,  the  Illinois, 
S 


22  NOTES. 

and  finally  over  the  great  lakes,  where  he  is  living  at 
this  day." — Jefferson's  Notes  on  Virginia. 

Stanza  17.  I.  1. 

Scorning  to  wield  the  hatched  for  his  bride, 
'Gainst  Brandt  himself ]  I  went  to  battle  forth. 
This  Brandt  was  a  warrior  of  the  Mohawk  nation, 
who  was  engaged  to  allure  by  bribes,  or  to  force  by 
threats.,  .nany  Indian  tribes  to  the  expedition  against 
Pennsylvania.  His  blood,  I  believe,  was  not  purely 
Indian,  but  half  German.  He  disgraced,  however,  his 
European  descent  by  more  than  savage  ferocity.  Among 
many  anecdotes  which  are  given  of  him,  the  following 
is  extracted  from  a  traveller  in  America,  already  quoted. 
"  With  a  considerable  body  of  his  troops  he  joined  the 
forces  under  the  command  of  Sir  John  Johnson.  A 
skirmish  took  place  with  a  body  of  American  troops  ; 
the  action  was  warm,  and  Brandt  wras  shot  by  a  musket 
ball  in  his  heel,  but  the  Americans,  in  the  end  were  de- 
feated, and  an  officer,  with  sixty  men,  were  taken  pri- 
soners.— The  officer,  after  having  delivered  up  his 
sword,  had  entered  into  conversation  with  Sir  John 
Johnson,  who  commanded  the  British  troops,  and  they 
were  talking  together  in  the  most  friendly  manner,  when 
Brandt,  having  stolen  slily  behind  them,  laid  the  Ame- 
rican officer  low  with  a  blow  of  his  tomahawk.  The 
indignation  of  Sir  John  Johnson,  as  may  be  readily  sup- 
posed, was  roused  by  such  an  act  of  treachery,  and  he 
resented  it  in  the  warmest  terms.  Brandt  listened  to 
him  unconcernedly,  and  when  he  had  finished,  told  him, 
that  he  was  sorry  for  his  displeasure,  but  that,  indeed, 
his  heel  was  extremely  painful  at  the  moment,  and  he 
could  not  help  revenging  himself  on  the  only  chief  of 
the  party  that  he  saw  taken.  Since  he  had  killed  the 
officer,  he  added,  his  heel  was  much  less  painful  to  him 
than  it  had  been  before.—  JFHd'sTravels,Vol.  II.  p.  297. 

Stanza  17.  I.  8  and  9. 
To  whom,  nor  relative  nor  blood  remains, 
No,  not  a  kindred  drop  that  runs  in  human  veins. 
Every  one  who  recollects  the  specimen  of  Indian  elo- 
quence given  in  the  speech  of  Logan,  a  Mingo  chief,  to 
the  governor  of  Virginia,  will  perceive  that  I  have  at- 
tempted to  paraphrase  its  concluding  and  most  striking 


NOTES.  23 

expression — There  runs  not  a  drop  of  my  blood  in  the 
veins  of  any  living  creature.  The  similar  salutations 
of  the  fictitious  personage  in  my  story,  and  the  real  In- 
dian orator,  make  it  surely  allowable  to  borrow  such  an 
expression ;  and  if  it  appears,  as  it  cannot  but  appear, 
to  less  advantage  than  in  the  original,  I  beg  the  reader 
to  reflect  how  difficult  it  is  to  transpose  such  exquisite- 
ly simple  words,  without  sacrificing  a  portion  of  their 
effect. 

In  the  spring  of  1774,  a  robbery  and  murder  were 
committed  on  an  inhabitant  of  the  frontiers  of  Virginia, 
by  two  Indians  of  the  Shawanee  tribe.  The  neighbour- 
ing whites,  according  to  their  custom,  undertook  to  pu- 
nish this  outrage  in  a  summary  manner.  Colonel  Cre- 
sap,  a  man  infamous  for  the  many  murders  he  had  com- 
mitted on  those  much  injured  people,  collected  a  party 
and  proceeded  down  the  Kanaway  in  quest  of  ven- 
geance. Unfortunately,  a  canoe  with  women  and  chil- 
dren, with  one  man  only,  was  seen  coming  from  the  op- 
posite shore  unarmed,  and  unsuspecting  an  attack  from 
the  whites.  Cresap  and  his  party  concealed  themselves 
on  the  bank  of  the  river,  and  the  moment  the  canoe 
reached  the  shore,  singled  out  their  objects,  and  at.  one 
fire  killed  every  person  in  it.  This  happened  to  be  the 
family  of  Logan,  who  had  long  been  distinguished  as  a 
friend  of  the  whites.  This  unworthy  return  provoked 
his  vengeance  ;  he  accordingly  signalized  himself  in  the 
war  which  ensued.  In  the  autumn  of  the  same  year  a 
decisive  battle  was  fought  at  the  mouth  of  the  great 
Kanaway,  in  which  the  collected  force  of  the  Shawa- 
nees,  Mingoes,  and  Delawares,  were  defeated  by  a  de- 
tachment of  the  Virginia  militia.  The  Indians  sued 
for  peace. — Logan,  however,  disdained  to  be  seen  among 
the  supplicants ;  but  lest  the  sincerity  of  the  treaty 
should  be  distrusted  from  which  so  distinguished  a  chief 
abstracted  himself,  he  sent,  by  a  messenger,  the  follow- 
ing speech  to  be  delivered  to  Lord  Dunmore.  "  I  ap- 
peal to  any  white  man  if  ever  he  entered  Logan's  cabin 
hungry,  and  he  gave  him  not  to  eat ;  if  ever  he  came 
cold  and  naked  and  he  clothed  him  not.  During  the 
course  of  the  last  Jong  and  bloody  war  Logan  remained 
idle  in  his  cabin,  an  advocate  for  peace.  Such  was  my 


24  NOTES. 

love  for  the  whites,  that  my  countrymen  pointed  as  they 
passed,  and  said,  Logan  is  the  friend  of  white  men.  I 
had  even  thought  to  have  lived  with  you  but  for  the  in- 
juries of  one  man.  Colonel  Cresap,  the  last  spring,  in 
cold  blood,  murdered  all  the  relations  of  Logan,  even 
my  women  and  children. 

"  There  runs  not  a  drop  of  my  blood  in  the  veins  of 
any  living  creature. — This  called  on  me  for  revenge. — 
I  have  fought  for  it — I  have  killed  many. — I  have  fully 
glutted  my  vengeance. — For  my  country  I  rejoice  at  the 
beams  of  peace — but  do  not  harbour  a  thought  that 
mine  is  the  joy  of  fear. — Logan  never  felt  fear. — He 
will  not  turn  on  his  heel  to  save  his  life. — Who  is  there 
to  mourn  for  Logan  ?  not  one  !" — Jefferson's  Notes  on 
Virginia. 


NOTES 


O'CONNOR'S  CHILD 

Verse  2.  I  9. 

Kerne,  the  plural  of  Kern,  an  Irish  foot  soldier.  In 
this  sense  the  word  is  used  by  Shakspeare.  Gainsford 
in  his  Glory's  of  England  says,  "  They  (the  Irish)  are 
desperate  in  revenge,  and  their  kerne  think  no  man 
dead  until  his  head  be  off." 

Verse  4.  /.  2. 
In  Erin's  yellow  vesture  clad. 

Yellow  dyed  from  saffron,  was  the  favourite  colour  of 
the  ancient  Irish,  as  it  was  among  the  Belgic  Gauls  ;  a 
circumstance  which  favours  the  supposition  of  those 
who  deduce  the  origin  of  the  former  from  the  latter  peo- 
ple. The  Irish  chieftains  who  came  to  treat  with  queen 
Elizabeth's  lord  lieutenant,  appeared  as  we  are  told  by 
Sir  John  Davies,  in  saffron  coloured  uniform. 


NOTES.  25 

Verse  6.  I.  18  and  14. 
Their  tribe,  they  said,  their  high  degree, 
Was  sung  in  Tara' s  psaltery. 

The  pride  of  the  Irish  in  ancestry  was  so  great,  that 
one  of  the  O'Neals  being  told  that  Barrett  of  Castle- 
mone  had  been  there  only  400  years,  he  replied,— that 
he  hated  the  clown  as  if  he  had  come  there  but  yester- 
day. 

Tara  was  the  place  of  assemblage  and  feasting  of  the 
petty  princes  of  Ireland.  Very  splendid  and  fabulous 
descriptions  are  given  by  the  Irish  historians  of  the  pomp 
and  luxury  of  those  meetings.  The  psaltery  of  Tara 
was  the  grand  national  register  of  Ireland.  The  grand 
epoch  of  political  eminence  in  the  early  history  of  the 
Irish  is  the  reign  of  their  great  and  favourite  monarch 
Ollan  Fodlah,  who  reigned,  according  to  Keating,  about 
950  years  before  the  Christian  era.  Under  him  was  in- 
stituted the  great  Fes  at  Tara,  which  it  is  pretended 
was  a  triennial  convention  of  the  states,  or  a-  parliament ; 
the  members  of  which  were  the  Druids,  and  other  learn- 
ed men,  who  represented  the  people  in  that  assembly. 
Very  minute  accounts  are  given  by  Irish  annalists  of  the 
magnificence  and  order  of  these  entertainments ;  from 
which,  if  credible,  we  might  collect  the  earliest  traces 
of  heraldry  that  occur  in  history.  To  preserve  order 
and  regularity  in  the  great  number  and  variety  of  the 
members  who  met  on  such  occasions,  the  Irish  histo- 
rians inform  us  that  whenjthe  banquet  was  ready  to  be 
served  up,  the  shield-bearers  of  the  princes,  and  other 
members  of  the  convention,  delivered  in  their  shields 
and  targets,  which  were  readily  distinguished  by  the 
coats  of  arms  emblazoned  upon  them.  These  were  ar- 
ranged by  the  grand  marshal  and  principal  herald,  and 
hung  upon  the  walls  on  the  right  side  of  the  table ;  and 
upon  entering  the  apartments,  each  member  took  his 
seat  under  his  respective  shield  or  target,  without  the 
slightest  disturbance.  The  concluding  days  of  the 
meeting,  it  is  allowed  by  the  Irish  antiquarians,  were 
,  spent  in  very  free  excess  of  conviviality  ;  but  the  first 
six,  they  say,  were  devoted  to  (he  examination  and  set- 
tlement of  the  annals  of  the  kingdom.  These  were 
publicly  rehearsed.  When  they  had  passed  the  appro- 
S  2 


26  NOTES. 

bation  of  the  assembly  they  were  transcribed  into  the 
authentic  chronicles  of  the  nation,  which  was  called  the 
Register,  or  Psalter,  of  Tara. 

Col.  Valency  gives  a  translation  of  an  old  Irish  frag- 
ment, found  in  Trinity  College,  Dublin,  in  which  the 
palace  of  the  above  assembly  is  thus  described,  as  it 
existed  in  the  reign  of  Cormac. 

"  In  the  reign  of  Cormac,  the  Palace  of  Tara  was 
nine  hundred  feet  square ;  the  diameter  of  the  sur- 
rounding rath  seven  dice  or  casts  of  a  dart ;  it  contained 
one  hundred  and  fifty  apartments ;  one  hundred  and  fifty 
dormitories,  or  sleeping  rooms  for  guards,  and  sixty  men 
in  each:  the  height  was  twenty-seven  cubits;  there 
were  one  hundred  and  fifty  common  drinking  horns, 
twelve  doors,  and  one  thousand  guests  daily,  besides 
princes,  orators,  and  men  of  science,  engravers  of  gold 
and  silver,  carvers,  modellers,  and  nobles.  The  Irish 
description  of  the  banqueting-hall  is  thus  translated  : 
twelve  stalls  or  divisions  in  each  wing;  sixteen  at- 
tendants on  each  side,  and  two  to  each  table ;  one  hun- 
dred guests  in  all." 

Verse  7.  /.  3. 
Ye  fought  the  English  of  the  pale. 

The  English  pale  generally  meant  Louth  in  Ulster, 
nnd  Meath,  Dublin,  and  Kildare  in  Leinster. — Mali* 
neaux's  History  of  Ireland. 

Verse  7.  I  4. 
And  stemmed  De  Bourgo's  chivalry. 

The  house  of  O'Connor  had  a  right  to  boast  of  their 
victories  over  the  English.  It  was  a  chief  of  the  O'Con- 
nor race  who  gave  a  check  to  the  English  Champion, 
De  Courcey,  so  famous  for  his  personal  strength,  and 
for  cleaving  a  helmet  at  one  blow  of  his  sword,  in  the 
presence  of  the  kings  of  France  and  England,  when  the 
French  champion  declined  the  combat  with  him. 
Though  ultimately  conquered  by  the  English  under  De 
Bourgo,  the  O'Connors  had  also  humbled  the  pride  of 
that  name  on  a  memorable  occasion  :  viz.  when  Walter 
De  Bourgo,  an  ancestor  of  that  De  Bourgo  who  won 
the  battle  of  Athunree,  had  become  so  insolent  as  to 
make  excessive  demands  upon  the  territories  of  Con- 
naught,  and  to  bid  defiance  to  all  the  rights  and  proper- 


NOTES.  27 

*  ties  reserved  by  the  Irish  chiefs.  Eath  O'Connor,  A 
near  descendant  of  the  famous  Cathal,  surnamed  of  the 
Bloody  Hand,  rose  against  the  usurper,  and  defeated 
the  English  so  severely,  that  their  general  died  of  cha- 
grin after  the  battle. 

Verse  7.  L  7. 

Or  Beal-firesfor  your  jubilee. 

The  month  of  May  is  to  this  day  called  Mi  Beal 
tiennie,  i.  e.  the  month  of  Beal's  fire,  in  the  original  lan- 
guage of  Ireland.  These  fires  were  lighted  on  the  sum- 
mits of  mountains  (the  Irish  antiquaries  say)  in  honour 
of  the  sun :  and  are  supposed,  by  those  conjecturing 
gentlemen,  to  prove  the  origin  of  the  Irish  from  some 
nation  who  worshipped  Baal  or  Belus.  Many  hills  in 
Ireland  still  retain  the  name  of  Cnoc  Greine,  i.  e.  the 
hill  of  the  sun ;  and  on  all  are  to  be  seen  the  ruins  of 
drtiidical  altars. 

Verse  8.  L  11. 

And  play  my  clarshech  by  thy  side. 
The  clarshech,  or  harp,  the  principal  musical  instru- 
ment of  the  Hibernian  bards,  does  not  appear  to  be  of 
Irish  origin,  nor  indigenous  to  any  of  the  British  Is- 
lands.— The  Britons  undoubtedly  were  not  acquainted 
with  it  during  the  residence  of  the  Romans  in  their 
country,  as  in  all  their  coins,  on  which  musical  instru- 
ments are  represented,  we  see  only  the  Roman  lyre,  and 
not  the  British  teylin  or  harp. 

Verse  9.  I.  8. 

And  saw  at  dawn  the  lofty  baivn. 
Daingean  is  a  Celtic  word  expressing  a  close  fast 
place  and  afterwards  a  fort. — This  the  English  called  a 
Bawn,  from  the  Teutonic  bawen,  to  construct  and  secure 
with  branches  of  trees.  The  Daingean  was  the  primi- 
tive Celtic  fortification ;  which  was  made  by  digging  a 
ditch,  throwing  up  a  rampart,  and  on  the  latter  fixing 
stakes,  which  were  interlaced  with  boughs  of  trees. — 
An  extempore  defence  used  by  all  nations,  and  particu- 
larly by  the  Romans. 

Non  te  fossa  patens 

Objectu  sudium  cororiat  agger." 

In  thissmanner  the  first  English  adventurers  secured . 


28  NOTES. 

their  posts  at  Ferns  and  Idrone.  When  king  Dennod 
entered  Ossory,  he  found  that  Donald  its  tossarch  had 
plashed  a  pace,  i.  e.  made  large  and  deep  trenches  with 
hedges  upon  them.  Four  hundred  years  afterwards, 
the  Irish  had  the  same  mode  of  defence.  Within  half 
a  mile  of  the  entrance  of  the  Moiry,  the  English  found 
that  pace  by  which  they  were  to  pass,  being  naturally 
one  of  the  most  difficult  passages  in  Ireland,  fortified 
with  good  art  and  admirable  industry.  The  enemy 
having  raised  from  mountain  to  mountain,  from  wood 
to  wood,  and  from  bog  to  bog,  traverses  with  huge  and 
high  flankers  of  great  stones,  mingled  with  turf  and 
staked  down  on  both  sides,  with  pallisades  wattled. 
Plashing  from  the  Franco-gallic  Plesser,  is  to  entwine> 
and  is  equivalent  to  the  Teutonic  bawen. — Ledwictfs. 
Antiquities  of  Ireland. 

Verse  13. 1  16. 
To  speak  the  malison  of  Heaven. 

If  the  wrath  which  I  have  ascribed  to  the  heroine  of 
this  little  piece  should  seem  to  exhibit  her  character  as 
too  unnaturally  stript  of  patriotic  and  domestic  affec- 
tions, I  must  beg  leave  to  plead  the  authority  of  Cor- 
neille  in  the  representation  of  a  similar  passion  :  I  al- 
lude to  the  denunciation  of  Camille  in  the  tragedy  of 
Horace.  When  Horace,  accompanied  by  a  soldier 
bearing  the  three  swords  of  the  Curiatii,  meets  his  sis- 
ter, and  invites  her  to  congratulate  him  on  his  victory, 
she  expresses  only  her  grief,  which  he  attributes  at  first 
only  to  her  feelings  for  the  loss  of  her  two  brothers  ;  but 
when  she  bursts  forth  into  reproaches  against  him  as 
the  murderer  of  her  lover,  the  last  of  the  Curiatii,  he 
exclaims 

"  O  Ciel,  qui  vit  jamais  une  pareille  rage, 
Crois  tu  done  que  je  suis  insensible  a  1'outrage 
Que  je  souffre  en  mon  sang  ce  mortel  deshonneur : 
Aime,  Aime  cette  mort  qui  fait  notre  bonheoir, 
Et  prefere  du  moins  au  souvenir  d'un  homme 
Ce  que  doit  ta  naissance  aux  intefets  de  Rome." 

At  the  mention  of  Rome,  Camille  breaks  out  into  this 
.apostrophe : 


NOTES.  29 

*s  Rome,  1'unique  objet  de  mon  ressentiment ! 
Rome,  a  qui  vient  ton  bras  d'imtnoler  mon  amant ! 
Rome,  qui  t'a  vu  naitre  et  que  ton  coeur  adore  ! 
Rome  enfin  que  je  hais,  parcequ'elle  t'honore ! 
Puisent  tous  ses  voi§ins,  ensemble  conjures, 
Sapper  ses  fondemens  encore  mal  assures  ; 
Et,  si  ce  n'est  assez  de  toute  1'Italie, 
Que  1'Orient,  contre  elle,  &  1'Occident  s'allie ; 
Que  cent  peuples  unis,  des  bouts  de  1'Univers 
Passent,  pour  la  detruire,  et  les  monts  et  les  mers: 
Qu'elle-meme  sur  soi  renverse  ses  murailles, 
Et  de  ses  propres  mains  dechire  ses  entrailles ; 
Que  le  courroux  du  Ciel,  allume  par  mes  voeux, 
Fasse  pleuvoir  sur  elle  un  deluge  de  fenx ! 
Puissai-je  de  mes  yeux  y  voir  tomber  ce  foudre, 
Voir  ses  maisons  en  cendre,  et  tes  lauriers  en  poudre. 
Voir  le  dernier  Remain  a.  son  dernier  soupir, 
Moi  seule  en  etre  cause,  et  mourir  de  plaisir !" 

Verse  14.  I.  5. 
And  go  to  'Jlthunree,  I  cried — 

In  tbe  reign  of  Edward  the  second,  the  Irish  present- 
ed to  Pope  John  the  Twenty-second,  a  memorial  of  their 
sufferings  under  the  English,  of  which  the  language  ex- 
hibits all  the  strength  of  despair. — "  Ever  since  the 
English  (say  they)  first  appeared  upon  ow  coasts,  they 
entered  our  territories  under  a  certain  specious  pretence 
of  charity,  and  external  hypocritical  show  of  religion, 
endeavouring  at  the  same  time,  by  every  artifice  malice 
could  suggest,  to  extirpate  us  root  and  branch,  and  with- 
out any  other  right  than  that  of  the  strongest,  they  have 
so  far  succeeded  by  base  fraudulence  and  cunning,  that 
they  have  forced  us  to  quit  our  fair  and  ample  habita- 
tions and  inheritances,  and  to  take  refuge  like  wild 
beasts  in  the  mountains,  the  woods,  and  the  morasses  of 
the  country; — nor  even  can  the  caverns  and  dens  pro- 
tect us  against  their  insatiable  avarice.  They  pursue 
us  even  into  these  frightful  abodes;  endeavouring  to 
dispossess  us  of  the  wild  uncultivated  rocks,  and  arro- 
gate to  themselves  the  property  of  every  place  on  which 
we  can  stamp  the  figure  of  our  feet." 

The  greatest  effort  ever  made  by  the  ancient  Irish  (.o 
regain  their  native  independence  was  made  at  the  time 


SO  NOTES. 

when  they  called  over  the  brother  of  Robert  Bruce  from 
Scotland. — William  de  Bourgo,  brother  to  the  Earl  of 
Ulster,  and  Richard  de  Birmingham,  were  sent  against 
the  main  body  of  the  native  insurgents,  who  were  head- 
ed rather  than  commanded  by  Felim  O'Connor. — The 
important  battle,  which  decided  the  subjection  of  Ire- 
land, took  place  on  the  10th  of  August,  1815.  It  was 
the  bloodiest  that  ever  was  fought  between  the  two  na- 
tions, and  continued  throughout  the  whole  day,  from 
the  rising  to  the  setting  sun.  The  Irish  fought  with  in- 
ferior discipline,  but  with  great  enthusiasm.  They  lost 
ten  thousand  men,  among  whom  were  twenty-nine  chiefs 
of  Connaught. — Tradition  states  that  after  this  terrible 
day,  the  O'Connor  family,  like  the  Fabian,  were  so 
nearly  exterminated,  that  throughout  all  Connaught  not 
one  of  the  name  remained,  except  Felim's  brother,  who 
was  capable  of  bearing  arms; 


NOTES 


LOCHIEL'S  WARNING. 

Lochiel,  the  chief  of  the  warlike  clan  of  the  Camerons, 
and  descended  from  ancestors  distinguished  in  their 
narrow  sphere  for  great  personal  prowess,  was  a  man 
worthy  of  a  better  cause  and  fate  than  that  in  which  he 
embarked,  the  enterprise  of  the  Stuarts  in  1745.  His 
memory  is  still  fondly  cherished  among  the  Highlan- 
ders, by  the  appellation  of  the  gentle  Lochiel,  for  he 
was  famed  for  his  social  virtues  as  much  as  his  martial 
and  magnanimous  (though  mistaken)  loyalty.  His  in- 
fluence was  so  important  among  the  Highland  'chiefs, 
that  it  depended  on  his  joining  with  his  clan  whether  the 
standard  of  Charles  should  be  raised  or  not  in  1745. 
Lochiel  was  himself  too  wise  a  man  to  be  blind  to  the 
consequences  of  so  hopeless  an  enterprise,  but  his  sen- 


NOTES.  31 

sibility  to  the  point  of  honour  overruled  his  wisdom. 
Charles  appealed  to  his  loyalty,  and  he  could  not  brook 
the  reproaches  of  his  prince.  When  Charles  landed  at 
Borrodale,  Lochiel  went  to  meet  him,  but,  on  his  way, 
called  at  his  brother's  house  (Cameron  of  Fassafern,) 
and  told  him  on  what  errand  he  was  going;  adding, 
however,  that  he  meant  to  dissuade  the  prince  from  his 
enterprise.  Fassafern  advised  him  in  that  case  to  com- 
municate his  mind  by  letter  to  Charles.  "  No,35  said 
Lochiel,  "  I  think  it  due  to  my  prince  to  give  him  my 
reasons  in  person  for  refusing  to  join  his  standard." 
"  Brother,"  replied  Fassafern,  u  I  know  you  better  than 
you  know  yourself;  if  the  prince  once  sets  his  eyes  on 
you,  he  will  make  you  do  what  he  pleases."  The  in- 
terview accordingly  took  place,  and  Locliiel,  with  many 
arguments,  but  in  vain,  pressed  the  Pretender  to  return 
to  France,  and  reserve  himself  and  his  friends  for  a  more 
favourable  occasion,  as  he  had  come,  by  his  own  ac- 
knowledgment, without  arms,  or  money,  or  adherents  ; 
or,  at  all  events,  to  remain  concealed  till  his  friends 
should  meet  and  deliberate  what  was  best  to  be  done, 
Charles,  whose  mind  was  wound  up  to  the  utmost  im- 
patience, paid  no  regard  to  this  proposal,  but  answered, 
*f  that  he  was  determined  to  put  all  to  the  hazard.  In  a 
few  days,"  said  he,  u  I  will  erect  the  royal  standard,  and 
proclaim  to  the  people  of  Great  Britain,  that  Charles 
Stuart  is  come  over  to  claim  the  crown  of  his  ancestors, 
and  to  win  it  or  perish  in  the  attempt.  Lochiel,  who 
by  my  father  has  often  told  me  he  was  our  firmest 
friend,  may  stay  at  home,  and  learn  from  the  newspa- 
pers the  fate  of  his  prince."  "  No,"  said  Lochiel,  "  I 
will  share  the  fate  of  my  prince,  and  so  shall  every  man 
over  whom  nature  or  fortune  hath  given  me  any  power." 

The  other  chieftains  who  followed  Charles  embraced 
his  cause  with  no  better  hopes.  It  engages  our  sympa- 
thy most  strongly  in  their  behalf,  that  no  motive,  but 
their  fear  to  be  reproached  with  cowardice  or  disloyal- 
ty, impelled  them  to  the  hopeless  adventure.  Of  this 
we  have  an  example  in  the  interview  of  prince  Charles 
with  Clanronald,  another  leading  chieftain  in  the  rebel 
army. 

"  Charles,"  says  Home,  "  almost  reduced  to  despair, 
in  his  discourse  with  Boisdale,  addressed  the  two  High- 


32  NOTES. 

landers  with  great  emotion,  and,  summing  up  his  argu- 
ments for  taking  arms,  conjured  them  to  assist  their 
prince,  their  countryman,  in  his  utmost  need.  Clan- 
ronald  and  his  friend,  though  well  inclined  to  the  cause, 
positively  refused,  and  told  him  that  to  take  up  arms 
without  concert  or  support  was  to  pull  down  certain 
ruin  on  their  own  heads.  Charles  persisted,  argued, 
and  implored.  During  this  conversation  (they  were  on 
shipboard)  the  parties  walked  backwards  and  forwards 
on  the  deck ;  a  Highlander  stood  near  them,  armed  at 
all  points,  as  was  then  the  fashion  of  his  country.  He 
was  a  younger  brother  of  Kinloch  Moid  art,  and  had 
come  off  to  the  ship  to  inquire  for  news,  not  knowing 
who  was  aboard.  When  he  gathered  from  their  dis- 
course that  the  stranger  was  the  prince  of  Wales  ;  when 
he  heard  h;s  chief  and  his  brother  refuse  to  take  arms 
with  their  prince,  his  colour  went  and  came,  his  eyes 
sparkled,  he  shifted  his  place,  and  grasped  his  sword. 
Charles  observed  his  'demeanour,  and  turning  briskly 
to  him,  called  out,  "  Will  you  assist  me  ?"  "  I  will,  I 
will,"  said  Ronald,  "  though  no  other  man  in  the  High- 
lands should  draw  a  sword,  I  am  ready  to  die  for  you  !" 
Charles,  with  a  profusion  of  thanks  to  his  champion^ 
said,  he  wished  all  the  Highlanders  were  like  him. 
Without  farther  deliberation  the  two  Macdonalds  de- 
clared that  they  would  also  join,  and  use  their  utmost 
endeavours  to  engage  their  countrymen  to  take  arms.5'- 
Home's  Hist.  Rebellion,  p.  40. 

Page  115,  Z.  11  and  12. 

Lo !  anointed  by  heav'n  with  the  vials  of  wrath, 
Behold,  where  he  flies  on  his  desolate  path  ! 

The  lines  allude  to  the  many  hardships  of  the  royal 
sufferer. 

An  account  of  the  second  sight,  in  Irish  called  Taish, 
is  thus  given  in  Martin's  description  of  the  Western 
Isles  of  Scotland.  "  The  second  sight  is  a  singular  fa- 
culty of  seeing  an  otherwise  invisible  object,  without 
any  previous  means  used  by  the  person  who  sees  it,  for 
that  end.  The  vision  makes  such  a  lively  impression 
upon  the  seers,  that  they  neither  see  nor  think  of  any 
thing  else  except  the  vision  as  long  as  it  continues ;  and 


NOTES.  S3 

then  they  appear  pensive  or  jovial  according  to  the  ob- 
ject which  was  represented  to  them. 

"  At  the  sight  of  the  vision  the  eyelids  of  the  person 
are  erected,  and  the  eyes  continue  staring  until  the  ob- 
ject vanish.  This  is  obvious  to  others  who  are  stand- 
ing by  when  the  persons  happen  to  see  a  vision ;  and 
occurred  more  than  once  to  my  own  observation,  and  to 
others  that  were  with  me. 

"  There  is  one  in  Skie,  of  whom  his  acquaintance 
observed,  that  when  he  sees  a  vision  the  inner  parts  of 
his  eyelids  turn  so  far  upwards,  that  after  the  object 
disappears,  he  must  draw  them  down  with  his  fingers, 
and  sometimes  employs  others  to  draw  them  down, 
which  he  finds  to  be  the  easier  way. 

"  This  faculty  of  the  second  sight  does  not  lineally  dc 
scend  in  a  family,  as  some  have  imagined  ;  for  I  know 
several  parents  who  are  endowed  with  it,  and  their  chil- 
dren are  not:  and  vice  versa.  Neither  is  it  acquired 
by  any  previous  compact.  And  after  strict  inquiry,  I 
could  never  learn  from  any  among  them,  that  this  facul- 
ty was  communicable  to  any  whatsoever.  The  seer 
knows  neither  the  object,  time,  nor  place  of  a  vision  be- 
fore it  appears ;  and  the  same  object  is  often  seen  by 
different  persons  living  at  a  considerable  distance  from 
one  another.  The  true  way  of  judging  as  to  the  time 
and  circumstances  is  by  observation  ;  for  several  "per- 
sons of  judgment  who  are  without  this  faculty  are  more 
capable  to  judge  of  the  design  of  a  vision  than  a  novice 
that  is  a  seer.  If  an  object  appear  in  the  day  or  night, 
it  will  come  to  pass  sooner  or  later  accordingly. 

"  If  an  object  is  seen  early  in  the  morning,  which  is 
not  frequent,  it  will  be  accomplished  in  a  few  hours 
afterwards  ;  if  at  noon,  it  .will  probably  be  accomplish- 
ed that  very  day;  if  in  the  evening,  perhaps  that  night ; 
if  after  candles  be  lighted,  it  will  be  accomplished  that 
night:  the  latter  always  an  accomplishment  by  weeks, 
months,  and  sometimes  years,  according  to  the  time  of 
|  the  night  the  vision  is  seen. 

"  When  a  shroud  is  seen  about  one,  it  is  a  sure  prog- 
nostic of  death.  The  time  is  judged  according  to  the 
height  of  it  about  the  person ;  for  if  it  is  not  seen  above 
the  middle,  death  is  not  to  be  expected  for  the  space  of 
a  year,  and  perhaps  some  months  longer ;  and  as  it  is 
T 


84  NOTES. 

frequently  seen  to  ascend  higher  towards  the  head,  death 
is  concluded  to  be  at  hand  within  a  few  days,  if  not 
hours,  as  daily  experience  confirms.  Examples  of  this 
kind  were  shown  me,  when  the  person  of  whom  the  ob- 
servations  were  then  made  was  in  perfect  health. 

"  It  is  ordinary  with  them  to  see  houses,  gardens.,  anu 
trees,  in  places  void  of  all  these,  and  this  in  process  of 
time  is  wont  to  be  accomplished ;  as  at  Mogslot,  in  the 
isle  of  Skie,  where  there  were  but  a  few  sorry  low 
houses  thatched  with  straw ;  yet  in  a  few  years  the  vi- 
sion, which  appeared  often,  was  accomplished  by  the 
building  of  several  good  houses  in  the  very  spot  repre- 
sented to  the  seers,  and  by  the  planting  of  orchards 
there. 

"  To  see  a  spark  of  fire  is  a  forerunner  of  a  dead 
child,  to  be  seen  in  the  arms  of  those  persons ;  of  which 
there  are  several  instances.  To  see  a  seat  empty  at  the 
time  of  sitting  in  it,  is  a  presage  of  that  person's  death 
quickly  after  it. 

"  When  a  novice,  or  one  that  has  lately  obtained  the 
second  sight,  sees  a  vision  in  the  night  time  without 
doors,  and  comes  near  a  fire,  he  presently  falls  into  a 
swoon. 

"  Some  find  themselves  as  it  were  in  a  crowd  of  peo- 
ple, having  a  corpse,  which  they  carry  along  with  them ; 
and  after  such  visions  the  seers  come  in  sweating,  and 
describe  the  vision  that  appeared.  If  there  be  any  of 
their  acquaintance  among  them,  they  give  an  account  of 
their  names,  as  also  of  the  bearers;  but  they  know  no- 
thing concerning  the  corpse." 

,  Horses  and  cows  (according  to  the  same  credulous 
author)  have  certainly  sometimes  the  same  faculty: 
and  he  endeavours  to  prove  it  by  the  signs  of  fear  which 
the  animals  exhibit,  when  second-sighted  persons  see 
visions  in  the  same  place. 

"  The  seers  (he  continues^  are  generally  illiterate 
and  wrell  meaning  people,  and  altogether  void  of  design : 
nor  could  I  ever  learn  that  any  of  them  ever  made  the 
least  gain  by  it;  neither  is  it  reputable  among  them  to* 
have  that  faculty.  Besides,  the  people  of  the  isles  are 
not  so  credulous  as  to  believe  implicitly  before  the  thing 
predicted  is  accomplished ;  but  when  it  is  actually  ao- 
complished  afterwards,  it  is  not  in  their  power  to  deny 


NOTES..  35 

„  without  offering  violence  to  their  own  sense  and  rea- 
son. Besides,  if  the  seers  were  deceivers,  can  it  be  rea- 
sonable to  imagine  that  all  the  islanders  who  have  not 
the  second  sight  should  combine  together,  and  offer  vio- 
lence to  their  understandings  and  senses,  to  enforce 
themselves  to  believe  a  lie  from  age  to  age.  There  are 
several  persons  among  them  whose  title  and  education 
raise  them  above  the  suspicion  of  concurring  with  an 
impostor,  merely  to  gratify  an  illiterate,  contemptible 
set  of  persons ;  nor  can  reasonable  persons  believe  that 
children,  horses,  and  cows,  should  be  pre-engaged  in  a 
combination  in  favour  of  the  second  sight" — Martin's 
Description  of  the  Western  Islands  of  Scotland,  p.  33 11. 

Page  115,  I  20. 
Lake  a  limb  from  his  country  cast  bleeding  and  torn  ? 

An  English  historian,  after  enumerating  the  severe 
execution  of  the  Highland  rebels  at  Culloden,  Carlisle, 
and  other  places,  concludes  by  informing  us  that  many 
thousands  experienced  his  majesty's  mercy,  in  being 
transported  for  life  to  the  plantations. 

Page  115,  I.  21. 

M  no !  for  a  darker  departure  is  near. 
The  brother  of  Lochiel  returning  to  England  ten  years 
after  the  rebellion,  though  he  acted  only  as  a  surgeon  in 
the  rebel  army,  suffered  the  dreadful  fate  here  predict- 
ed, by  a  sentence  which  happily  has  no  parallel  for 
needless  severity  in  the  modern  history  of  state  trials  in 
this  humane  age  and  country. 


NOTES 

TO 

THEODRIC. 

Line  3. 
^  That  gave  the  glacier  tops  thei)  richest  glow." 

The  sight  of  the  glaciers  of  Switzerland,  I  am  told, 
has  often  disappointed  travellers  who  had  perused  the 
accounts  of  their  splendour  and  sublimity  given  by 
Bourrit  and  other  describers  of  Swiss  scenery.  Possi- 
bly Bourrit,  who  has  spent  his  life  in  an  enamoured  fa- 
miliarity with  the  beauties  of  Nature  in  Switzerland, 
may  have  leaned  to  the  romantic  side  of  description. 
One  can  pardon  a  man  for  a  sort  of  idolatry  of  those  im- 
posing objects  of  Nature  which  heighten  our  ideas  of 
the  bounty  of  Nature  or  Providence,  when  we  reflect 
that  the  glaciers — those  seas  of  ice — are  not  only  sub- 
lime but  useful :  they  are  the  inexhaustible  reservoirs 
which  supply  the  principal  rivers  of  Europe ;  and  their 
annual  melting  is  in  proportion  to  the  summer  heat 
which  dries  up  those  rivers  and  makes  them  need  that 
supply. 

That  the  picturesque  grandeur  of  the  glaciers  should 
sometimes  disappoint  the  traveller, .will  not  seem  sur- 
prising to  anyone  who  has  been  much  in  a  mountainous 
country,  and  recollects  that  the  beauty  of  Nature  in 
such  countries  is  not  only  variable,  but  capriciously 
dependent  on  the  weather  and  sunshine.  There  are 
about  four  hundred  different  glaciers,*  according  to  the 
computation  of  M.  Bourrit,  between  Mont  Blanc  and 
the  frontiers  of  the  Tyrol.  The  full  effect  of  the  most 
lofty  and  picturesque  of  them  can,  of  course,  only  be 
produced  by  the  richest  and  warmest  light  of  the  atmos- 
phere ;  and  the  very  heat  which  illuminates  them  must 

*  Occupying,  if  taken  together,  a  surface  of  130  square 
leagues. 


NOTES.  37 

have  a  changing  influence  on  many  of  their  appearances. 
I  imagine  it  is  owing  to  this  circumstance,  namely,  the 
casualty  and  change  a  blencss  of  the  appearance  of  some 
of  the  glaciers,  that  the  impressions  made  by  them  on 
the  minds  of  other  and  more  transient  travellers  have 
been  less  enchanting  than  those  described  by  M.  Bour- 
rit.  On  one  occasion  M.  Bourrit  seems  even  to  speak 
of  a  past  phenomenon,  and  certainly  one  which  no  other 
spectator  attests  in  the  same  terms,  when  he  says,  that 
there  once  existed  between  the  Kandel  Steig  and  Lau- 
terbrun, "  a  passage  amidst  singular  glaciers,  sometimes 
resembling  magical  towns  of  ice,  with  pilasters,  pyra- 
mids, columns,  and  obeli-sks,  reflecting  to  the  sun  the 
most  brilliant  hues  of  the  finest  gems." — M.  Bourrit's 
description  of  the  Glacier  of  the  Rhone  is  quite  en- 
chanting.— "  To  form  an  idea,"  he  says,  "  of  this  su- 
perb spectacle,  figure  in  your  mind  a  scaffolding  of 
transparent  ice,  filling  a  space  of  two  miles,  rising  to 
the  clouds,  and  darting  flashes  of  light  like  the  sun. 
Nor  were  the  several  parts  less  magnificent  and  sur- 
prising. One  might  see,  as  it  were,  the  streets  and 
buildings  of  a  city,  erected  in  the  form  of  an  amphi- 
theatre, and  embellished  with  pieces  of  water,  cascades, 
and  torrents.  The  effects  were  as  prodigious  as  the 
immensity  and  the  height ; — the  most  beautiful  azure — 
the  most  splendid  white — the  regular  appearance  of  a 
thousand  pyramids  of  ice,  are  more  easy  to  be  imagin- 
ed than  described." — Bourrit,  iii.  163. 

Line  9. 

"  From  heights  bronzed  by  the  bounding  kouquetin" 
I.aborde,  in  his  "  Tableau  de  la  Suisse,"  gives  a  cu- 
rious account  of  this  animal,  the  wild  sharp  cry  and 
elastic  movements  of  which  must  heighten  the  pic- 
turesque appearance  of  its  haunts. — "  Nature,"  says 
juaborde,  "  has  destined  it  to  mountains  covered  with 
snow  :  if  it  is  not  exposed  to  keen  cold  it  becomes  blind. 
Its  agility  in  leaping  much  surpasses  that  of  the  cha- 
mois, and  would  appear  incredible  to  those  who  have 
not  seen  it.  There  is  not  a  mountain  so  high  or  steep 
to  which  it  will  not  trust  itself,  provided  it  has  room  to 
place  its  feet ;  it  can  scramble  along  the  highest  wall,  if 
its  surface  be  rugged." 


38  NOTES. 

Line  15. 

"  Enamelled  moss." 

The  moss  of  Switzerland,  as  well  as  that  of  the  Ty- 
rol, is  remarkable  for  a  bright  smoothness  approaching 
to  the  appearance  of  enamel. 

Line  136. 

"  How  dear  seemed  ev'n  the  waste  and  wild  Shreckhorn" 
The  Shreckhorn  means  in  German,  the  Peak  of 
Terror. 

Line  141. 

"  Blindfold  his  native  hills  he  could  have  known" 
I  have  here  availed  myself  of  a  striking  expression  of 
the  Emperor  Napoleon  respecting  his  recollections  of 
Corsica,  which  is  recorded  in  Las  Cases's  History  of  the 
Emperor's  abode  at  St.  Helena. 


io 


